


Do I Dare Disturb the Universe?

by ASongofIceandHope



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Eventual Smut, F/M, Sexual Tension, Tom Is A Dick, because he is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-11-09 12:07:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 53,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11104272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASongofIceandHope/pseuds/ASongofIceandHope
Summary: When Hermione Granger falls through time, she finds herself in the middle of a changing time for the wizarding world. Grindelwald is at the height of his power, and one Tom Riddle Jr. is set to leave Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at the end of the term. And so the question becomes: Does Hermione dare disturb the universe? Post-Battle of Hogwarts; disregards Epilogue.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I have found the Harry Potter sin ship and I loooooove it. Hoping I can do it justice; I'm a little rusty as I haven't written in a while. Please feel free to tell me what I'm doing wrong or have suggestions; though please... be gentle! 
> 
> Also, things will move fast in this first chapter because Tom knows Hermione is from the future unlike in other stories like this. And I apologize if Hermione is OOC, I have never written Harry Potter fanfic before! So again, any advice or suggestions are highly welcome if they are given in a constructive manner.

It was a moment like the quiet before the storm, except the storm had already passed. Hermione wandered the halls of Hogwarts, watching as older witches and wizards repaired broken columns and windows, shattered glass and crushed stone floating gently through the air back to their original settings. Part of the process seemed... false... to try and restore the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. She knew they had to, of course; life would go on as usual now with Voldemort defeated, and there were new generations of witches and wizards to educate. 

But would it really be Hogwarts without Lavender Brown pining after Ron, or Colin Creevey snapping pictures of everyone with his camera, or even without Professor Snape sulking about the halls? Hermione wasn't so sure. But in her gut she knew it wasn't her place to decide anymore; her schoolgirl days were long behind her.

Her ambling feet seemed to go on autopilot as she found herself mounting a staircase she knew all too well. The headmaster's office was void of the eclectic homeyness that was a staple of the wood-paneled room during Professor Dumbledore's tenure, but some of the artifacts remained; the Sorting Hat sat upon its ancient stool, grumbling to itself, and a glass dish of lemon drops sat on the headmaster's desk. Hermione found that particularly odd; she had never imagined Professor Snape to be one to enjoy muggle candies. 

But Hermione welcomed the familiar sights and surroundings. She inhaled slowly and savored the smell of old books and manuscripts that still lingered a year after Dumbledore's passing. 

Her moment of peace was disturbed by a sharp rattling sound. It was coming from inside the headmaster's desk. Hermione ignored it at first - it was likely some sort of confiscated toy from Zonko's - but as she turned back to leave the noise grew and became more erratic. 

With a huff, Hermione started to pull open the drawers of the desk, amazed that Snape hadn't put some sort of spell on them to lock them, until she found the source of the rattle. 

An old, leather-bound diary with simple adornments shook in the drawer. Its cover had been punctured (by a Basilisk fang, Hermione knew) as well as most of the diary itself. If anyone outside the wizarding world had come across it, they would have thought nothing of it, nothing of the name embossed in simple gold font on the front of it in bold letters: TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE. 

But every wizard and witch knew that name. And they knew who Tom Riddle had become. 

And that was why Hermione was tentative to touch it. When it was a functioning horcrux, not only had it possessed Ginny Weasley to open the Chamber of Secrets, but it had taken Harry back in time and revealed just who Tom Riddle was - or had been. There was Dark magic surrounding the little book, and Hermione knew better than to meddle with it. 

However, Hermione was curious, and she certainly wasn't afraid of Tom Riddle just like she wasn't afraid of Lord Voldemort. They both were gone, had ceased to exist, and the world no longer had to live in fear. 

It was that moment of pride, of confidence, of hubris that led Hermione to pick up the diary. 

And she regretted it the instant her fingertips brushed the cover.

*****

Hermione had never been in a car accident, but she imagined the sensations surrounding her were the closest she would ever get to understanding. She certainly would be suffering from whiplash once her traumatic experience was through. If she lived to tell the tale, that is. She wasn't quite sure if she was going to make it, depending on where her destination was.

Once, when she was a girl, her parents had taken her to an amusement park. There had been a ride that lifted you up then dropped you back toward the ground, only to stop partially and jolt you once more before lifting you up again. Hermione could remember the feeling of her stomach on that ride, and she was experiencing it once more but at an exaggerated intensity. She imagined the feeling of falling at a high speed was something Harry was used to, being a Quidditch star and also being prone to Quidditch accidents, but Hermione... she was cautious and had never put herself in a situation where she would ever feel out of control. Being in a free-fall was one of those situations she actively avoided. 

Until now, that is.

Truth be told, she didn't really understand what she was falling through. One minute she touched Tom Riddle's diary, the next she's falling through what feels like a black hole, as muggle astronomers call it. 

And she's falling, falling, falling, and Hermione thinks to scream but everyone in the castle is so far away and she's smart enough to realize that no one would hear her anyway so why bother? 

She's falling and there is nothing she can do about it.

Until... she isn't.

*****

Hermione landed with a soft _thud_ on a cold, damp floor. She was jarred, of course, and was slow to get up, making sure she hadn't broken anything. Much to her surprise, she was only a bit sore from where she had fallen. 

And her pain was becoming the least of her worries as she recognized her surroundings. The long, dark stone pathway lined with statues of serpent's heads were all too familiar. A musty smell from still water filled her nostrils and she sighed. Hermione wasn't quite sure why she had ended up where she was. She and Ron had been in the Chamber of Secrets just hours earlier, yet something about it seemed... different. Hermione couldn't put her finger on what, until she turned toward the facade that once was home of the Basilisk and... there was no Basilisk skeleton to be found. 

"Oh no..." Hermione mumbled under her breath as she slowly turned and around and began to make her way toward the exit. 

She wasn't totally sure what was going on, but she had a fleeting suspicion that Tom Riddle had placed some more magic on his diary than turning it into a horcrux. How he had managed to create... a portkey through time, however, she wasn't sure. Outside of time-turners, time travel magic was not something most witches and wizards were interested in. 

_Well, he's not most witches and wizards_ , Hermione reminded herself as she rounded a corner and began her trek upward toward the girl's lavatory. Much to her surprise, the vault-like door that kept the Basilisk within its chambers was open, and she quickly scrambled through it, wand at the ready.

Footsteps other than her own came from the direction she was heading, and Hermione's heart started to race. Even though Tom Riddle was not yet the snake-faced Lord Voldemort she and her friends would come to face, he was still dangerous. And if he was coming down to the chamber... she needed to hide.

Hermione ducked into a smaller passageway, gripping her wand tighter. It was only then that she realized that she had the destroyed diary in her hands. 

"Shit!" Hermione cursed, dropping the diary and gasping as it made a rather loud splashing sound into the puddle at her feet. 

"Who's there?" the smooth, masculine voice called from the main passageway. "Come out, and maybe I won't hurt you." Hermione picked up the diary and slowly crept out toward the source of the voice, her wand raised and ready to strike if need be. 

Standing in the corridor in an equally defensive stance was a young man, around Hermione's own age, with neatly trimmed dark hair that fell softly onto his forehead. Equally dark eyes appraised her in amusement, a small smirk playing at the corner of the boy's lips. Hermione knew who he was immediately, based on Ginny and Harry's descriptions of the Tom Riddle they'd encountered during she and Harry's second year at Hogwarts.

"What are you doing down here? You shouldn't be down here," Tom told her. 

"I... I honestly don't know," Hermione admitted honestly. "But it has something to do with some sort of spell or charm that you put on this." She threw the ruined diary at his feet and watched as his icy composure faded momentarily before his facade of steel returned to him.

"How did you get this? And what... what did you do to it?" His eyes flashed with anger but his face was as expressionless as ever. 

"Where... where I come from, it's been destroyed," Hermione told him. "Now you tell me what you did to this. Other than use it as a horcrux, of course." Part of her got some enjoyment out of watching Tom Riddle falter the way he did when she told him what she knew. But another part of her knew better; he was a dangerous wizard, even as a student. 

"So it worked," Tom noted in interest, picking up the diary and pocketing it within his robes. "Come with me. I'm taking you to the headmaster."

He approached her, wand still pointed at her, as he grabbed her arm and led her out of the chamber and up into the girl's lavatory. When they reached the more natural light of the lavatory, Tom gave her a puzzled look, and at first Hermione wondered why, but then she realized; Tom Riddle had been a student at Hogwarts from 1938-1945. He would have never seen a girl his age - let alone any girl - in jeans before. 

"What the devil do you call those?" he complained, motioning to her outfit with his wand. 

"Does it really matter to you?" Hermione retorted. She seemed to have gotten him there, so Tom simply rolled his eyes and begrudgingly led her up to the headmaster's office. Hermione was trying to recall who the headmaster of Hogwarts had been at the time, and the answer came to her as soon as she laid eyes on him. Armando Dippet. 

"Professor," Tom stated curtly as he forced Hermione down into a seat. "I found this girl wandering the corridor. No form of identification, no robes, oddly dressed, and wielding a wand."

"Peculiar," Dippet hummed, his gaze flitting over Hermione with some interest. "Where do you come from, miss? And if you are wielding a wand... where were you educated?" Hermione bit her lip; she certainly couldn't tell them that she was from the future and had been the top of her class here at Hogwarts, but she could also tell that Tom wasn't going to call her bluff in front of Dippet. To do so, he would be putting himself at risk.

"I... I was educated at Ilvermorny," Hermione said with slight difficulty. If it was an obvious lie, Dippet didn't seem suspicious. "You see, I was raised here in the U.K., but my parents moved to the States when my father got a job with MACUSA. We've just recently returned as he has recently become unemployed. I was supposed to start my seventh and final year of school here, but I missed the train, so I tried to apparate-"

"Underage?" Dippet questioned. "You know that is a serious offense." Hermione made brief eye contact with Tom; his eyes were twinkling in triumph. Hermione's stomach knotted at the thought of letting Riddle win even the smallest of battles against her, so she continued her sad story. 

"I know, but I'm a rather accomplished witch. I... I was overconfident in my abilities and happened to appear right in front of Mr...?" She turned to Tom, pretending that she didn't know everything about him. He quickly plastered a fake smile on his face and reached out to shake her hand.

"Riddle. Tom Riddle," he provided. Hermione resisted her urge to roll her eyes at the false suaveness of his mannerisms; he really could put on a good show for those he needed to convince. 

"And I'm afraid we have not yet learned your name, Miss," Dippet interjected. 

"Hermione Granger," Hermione provided. She imagined there was no harm in using her real name; Dippet would be dead long before Hermione would walk through the doors of Hogwarts. 

The already elderly headmaster nodded and rose from his seat. Hermione watched cautiously as he opened a cabinet and procured none other than the Sorting Hat, which grumbled. Dippet seemed to mutter something to it, and its gaze fell on Hermione.

"Very well, very well," the hat grumbled. Dippet placed it on Hermione's head and she sat still, focusing her gaze on anything other than Tom Riddle. 

_Just hurry up and put me in Gryffindor_ , she thought to the hat. _I've already been sorted there once. And it will give him cause enough to leave me alone._

"Gryffindor, eh?" the hat chuckled. "Interesting, interesting... but I see something... more. A very keen mind, the brightest witch of her age... well. There's only one place for you then... RAVENCLAW!"

Dippet removed the hat from her head and Hermione gulped slightly. 

"Very good, very very good!" Dippet clapped his hands together. "In fact, don't the Slytherin seventh years have quite a few classes with the Ravenclaws this year? Tom will be able to show you around." Both she and Riddle grimaced slightly at the thought and Hermione found some comfort in that; at least he didn't want to be around her as much as she wanted to avoid him.

"Um, professor, what should I do about robes? I'm afraid I failed to bring them with me..." Hermione trailed off. "And my parents are off... on holiday, visiting my mother's family in F...France."

"I'll send for some personally," Dippet nodded to her. "Now off you go! It's almost curfew, and you've got to make your rounds, Tom!"

They both nodded respectably to the headmaster before exiting his office. As soon as the door was shut behind them, Riddle grabbed Hermione's arm and shoved her into a dark hallway, his wand in her face. Hermione frowned deeply and reached to push it out of the way.

"Some way to treat a lady," she quipped. "I thought people had manners in these times. Guess I was wrong." Riddle pushed her harder up against the wall, and Hermione found herself momentarily surprised; his eyes were more of a hazel, green and a deep, dark brown, than the almost-black they appeared to be back in the chamber. 

"Where are you really from? And how do you know so much about me?" he hissed. Hermione laughed and stared him down challengingly. She knew it was foolish; he stood almost head-and-shoulders over her, and his history with Dark magic was something to be feared. 

"Wouldn't you like to know," she snorted. "Always obsessed with your future, huh, Tom? I suppose that makes sense, considering. Why else would someone make... two horcruxes?" Her gaze flitted to the Gaunt ring on his finger. "Oh yes, we destroy that one too. All six... well, seven... of them. Nasty business, making horcruxes. Even the brightest and keenest minds lose it eventually." 

Riddle was startled by her words and stepped back, releasing Hermione's arm. "You're lying," he accused. 

"You can always check for yourself. I know you're a Legilimens, too, Tom. I know more about you than you would care to know," Hermione said. "So perhaps if you value this information, you would escort me back to the Ravenclaw common room? Since I don't know where it is." 

A simple huff from Tom was all Hermione needed to hear to know she had bested him - this time. 

The two made their way though the halls of the castle with a weighty silence between them. Once or twice, Hermione could feel Tom trying to reach out and penetrate her mind, but every time she felt the odd, prying sensation she shot him a deathly glare that apparently worked on him to a point. He walked a bit too close to her, Hermione found, and she caught a soft whiff of what had to be either aftershave or cologne. She chuckled to herself, finding it odd that Voldemort would ever bother with such trivial, somewhat... Muggle... things.

"What's so funny?" he hissed. Their progress through the castle came to a grinding halt, and while Hermione could have continued on her way without his guidance, she didn't want to raise his suspicions any more than she already had.

"From what I know of you, I never would have taken you for the type of man who uses aftershave," Hermione explained, still chuckling. 

"Its cologne, actually," Tom corrected. A sly grin tugged at the corners of his fairly pouty lips. "Why? Do you... perchance... like it?" Hermione rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. 

"If you think I would be interested in you or attracted to you in any way, you are sorely mistaken. Now please, if you could take me to the Ravenclaw dormitory so I can get a good night's rest? It's been a long and traumatic day." With a flourish of his long, slender hand, Tom motioned for her to keep walking. Hermione found herself getting irritated as she kept noticing the smell of him. It was a warm, spicy scent; something that Harry or Ron would never dare to wear. Everything about Riddle was in such stark contrast from Harry and Ron, which made sense, but the smell of his cologne had Hermione thinking: Would it kill Harry or Ron to smell like something other than bland deodorant and toothpaste sometimes?

Her frustrations almost led her to walk right past the Ravenclaw dormitory's entrance, and Tom grabbed her wrist to stop her from wandering beyond it.

"You'll have to knock," Tom told her. "And get the riddle right if you wish to enter. Otherwise... well, I suppose you'll be stuck with me." Hermione scoffed at his words and knocked the fine eagle knocker. 

"Tear off one and scratch its head, what was red's now black instead," the door spoke with great clarity. Hermione almost laughed at the simplicity.

"A matchstick," she answered. The door swung open and Tom almost began to follow her, only for Hermione to slam the door in his face after saying a quick "Goodnight, Tom." She almost wished she could have gotten a look at his face; he must not have been used to being ignored and spurned by a female student. 

There was a knock on the door and she heard the door give another riddle. It swung open and Tom stepped into the common room.

"You will tell me one more thing before I leave," he ordered as he sat in one of the plush blue reading chairs. He crossed his legs, and Hermione noticed that they were rather long, and - _No, no, no do not think about Lord Voldemort's legs, Hermione_ , she thought. 

"What would you like to know? Though you know that oftentimes knowing your future is more dangerous than you would think," Hermione pointed out. 

"Do my plans succeed?" 

The air between them was still, but Hermione could feel the spark of electricity as she looked up and met his questioning gaze. And she knew he was evil, and terrible, and even at such a young age had already killed and had set the Basilisk loose in the school... but Hermione wondered if it was possible to change things. To change the future, not just for Riddle, but maybe... maybe for Harry and his parents, for everyone who had been hurt by the horrors Lord Voldemort afflicted on the wizarding world. 

"No," Hermione told him bluntly. "You... You go about everything all wrong. And it destroys you. Not once, but twice. And all at the hands of a boy." 

Tom shook his head and actually went as far as to laugh at what Hermione told him. "You must be joking. A boy? Some random boy will be able to defeat me? My dear, you must consider this all laughable, but I am a very serious man. Of course, I have a sense of humor, but I don't have time to humor a silly young woman such as yourself. So tell me the truth: Do. My. Plans. Succeed?"

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms. "I already told you. They don't. You fail miserably. And if you don't believe me, find out for yourself." 

Tom rose to his feet and he chuckled. "Maybe I will." Hermione met his gaze and she could feel him starting to pry into her mind. She decided that two could play at that game; she was not an Occlumens, not like Harry, but she had read about Legilimens. Hermione threw every nasty memory, every horrible thing Lord Voldemort ever did at Tom. She made sure to show him what he would look like in the future, too. If he needed to see, he would see all of it. 

After watching his own death, Tom recoiled with a hiss.

"Who is that boy?" he questioned. "I demand you tell me!" Hermione frowned deeply.

"He doesn't even exist yet. And if you were to try and change the future, the chances are you will never have to meet him," she pointed out. "Some people believe in Fate; that everything is set in stone and will occur as it was written to occur... And I doubt someone like you believes all that rubbish?" Tom raised a brow and sat back down in the blue chair, his fingers resting on his chin in thought. 

"If I decide to change my course," Tom stated, "would you help me?" 

"You mean become a Death Eater or one of your little cronies?" Hermione scoffed. "No. No way. You have the information you need now to know where you went wrong. It's up to you to try and fix it. Goodnight, Tom." She turned her back to him and made her way up to the girls' dormitory, finding an open bed and a Ravenclaw trunk with her name already embossed in it. Inside, she found plain blue pajamas, and reluctantly tugged off her old clothes before replacing them with the new ones. They were soft and silky, and felt almost too nice in her skin as she climbed into bed. 

And as much as she tried to shake it, she could not get a certain pair of hazel eyes to leave her mind.

It was strange to her, really, that the young man she had encountered was to become the most powerful wizard to ever walk the earth, but at the same time... Hermione did fear him. He had mastered skills that no seventh year ever had before. She had been foolish to test him, and she decided that the most practical thing she could do while stuck in... whatever year she was trapped in, was to stay out of his way. 

But how was she going to get back? If Tom was the one who had put the time-travel spell on the horcrux, then Hermione imagined that only Tom knew how to reverse it and send Hermione back to her own time. Unless, of course, she could find someone else who would both believe her and want to help her. She thought of the professors she knew that had been at Hogwarts during Tom's time as a student, and one name in particular struck her immediately. How could she be so stupid? She knew of one professor in particular that would be more than willing to help her, and was certainly aware of Riddle's true colors, even if he wasn't vocal about them just yet. And if one person knew enough about magic to help her at least attempt to get home without Riddle's help, it was him. 

Hermione drifted off to sleep once her mind was set with her plan for the morning. Before breakfast, she would make her way to the transfiguration classroom to speak to the one person she thought could help her.

Professor Dumbledore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione finds that some things at Hogwarts never change. Tom begins his game of cat-and-mouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad so many of you liked my first chapter! You'll find, if you're familiar with the show/book series Outlander that a lot of this is kind of inspired by it - at least how Hermione gets sent back in time is kind of a nod to the series.  
> Also, you'll find that I write Tom a little differently than maybe is canonically correct; I try to incorporate the showy, falsely charming Tom Riddle more when he's in front of his classmates, and when he's trying to schmooze Hermione, but he also is still very dangerous!

"Riddle, isn't that her? Isn't that the girl you found last night?" Tom's attention was drawn away from his simple breakfast by Camus Lestrange, who had elbowed him gently in the side. He followed Camus' wandering gaze toward the individual in question.

Hermione was walking into the great hall in a deep conversation with none other than their transfiguration professor, Albus Dumbledore. Tom frowned a bit. 

"Well?" Abraxas Malfoy chimed in. "She's a bloody mess if she is; look at that hair. You'd think she'd bother doing something with it; smoothing charms are quite useful these days." Tom rolled his eyes and watched how Hermione smiled softly at the bane of his existence. The old man was a blinding beacon of Light for all students, and Tom couldn't have such... goodness... in his way if his plans were to succeed someday.

Tom watched as Hermione sat down with two other Ravenclaw girls, chatting with them as she smeared marmalade on her toast. He looked down at his own hand to find the same exact thing, and set down said toast in disgust. Checking his watch, he saw that it was almost time for class, and rose to his feet and made his way over to the Ravenclaw table. He could feel nearly every female gaze in the entire school on him as he stopped behind Hermione and cleared his throat. She turned to look at him with barely-veiled annoyance.

"What, Riddle?" she inquired, raising a brow. 

"Charms class," he told her. "First class of the day. I figured I would walk you so you don't get lost; the moving staircases-"

"I'm sure I can find my way with some of my fellow Ravenclaws," Hermione said, looking back toward a blonde girl who was sitting with her and seemed to be somewhere off in space. Riddle nearly snorted.

"I insist," he stated, flashing a grin that most girls swooned over. Hermione rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag, throwing it over her shoulder as she got up and walked out of the hall with Tom. "I'm curious to see if the academic expectations of... wherever you come from... are the same as they are now, or if they've become too... moderate." Hermione looked at Tom with a frown and her gaze landed on his Head Boy pin. 

"If you're trying to intimidate me, or insinuate that I am not as intelligent as you... you are mistaken," she assured. "I would have my pick of Ministry jobs at the end of this year. I have ten O.W.L.'s! I was set to be Head Girl until-"

"So you are my age," Tom noted. "And just because you exceed at a standardized test does not mean you are of remarkable intelligence." Hermione crossed her arms and they stopped in front of the charms classroom. 

"And just how many O.W.L.'s do you have, Riddle?"

"Twelve," he flashed her a grin and moved to enter the classroom. Hermione almost spluttered in alarm; the only way she had managed to get so many was because she had doubled up on courses quite regularly. She followed Tom into the classroom, still in shock as she moved to sit right in front. 

Before long, the classroom had filled with students. Tom was surrounded by his cronies who Hermione knew would later become his Death Eaters; one of them resembled Draco so strongly that she knew he had to be his grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy. Another boy, who looked familiar, kept looking at Hermione as he whispered something into Tom's ear. 

"So do you think she could be of use to us?" Lestrange whispered. Tom shrugged.

"She may have already exercised her usefulness," he mumbled. "And you know I have no use for sniveling girls." Lestrange's eyes flashed mischievously, as did Avery's. "But don't get any ideas. I still don't know all that she knows."

"If she has become chummy with Dumbledore you know she won't be very helpful... or willing," Avery grumbled. His mousy brown hair was a mess, as usual, and Tom wished he would take some pride in his appearance; _I'm a half-blood orphan and I look more esteemed and privileged than he does at times_ , he thought. At times, Tom got somewhat annoyed with his sycophants; their privilege oftentimes made them stubborn and entitled, and they never seemed as dedicated to their cause as he was. It reminded him, momentarily, of what Hermione had said about him going about his plans all wrong. Most of his pureblood Slytherin counterparts would eventually go into politics, holding steady jobs at the Ministry. He only gave the thought a moment's consideration.

"We'll see," Tom muttered. "I can be very... persuasive."

Professor Zauber entered the classroom moments later, as scatterbrained as ever, and set down his stack of parchment and textbooks with a small chuckle. "Welcome!" he greeted. "To N.E.W.T. Level Charms. As this is your first class of the day, I will start with some simple questions before we get to casting spells. Could someone please tell me the practical uses of the Color Change Charm, better known as - ah, yes, Miss... Granger?"

Everyone's eyes flitted over to Hermione, including Tom's, as he watched her answer the question with such certainty.

"The Color Change Charm, better known as _Colovaria_ , is used to change the color of an object or animal; for example, one could use the charm to change the color of walls and banners."

"Very good, Miss Granger! Ten points to Ravenclaw!" Zauber exclaimed enthusiastically. "Now, would anyone care to demonstrate?" He glanced around the classroom and could not find any willing participants until Tom raised his hand. "Mr. Riddle, go right ahead." Hermione watched with a glare as Riddle made his way up to the classroom. With a simple flick of his wrist, the color of the white rat on the professor's desk turned a violent shade of green. Zauber was a bit surprised, and Hermione knew why; Riddle had done the spell without the incantation. 

"A green rat, how fitting," was all she could say to the Ravenclaw she was sitting with. A few people around her overheard and their eyes widened; Hermione imagined no one had ever dared to speak so rudely about Tom Riddle before. 

Or at least, that's what Hermione thought they had been surprised by, until she turned around, and found Riddle standing right in front of her desk.

"Why don't you tell them how you really feel about me?" he teased.

"Um, Miss Granger, if you could please come forward and restore the rat to its original state for me?" Zauber questioned, conveniently saving Hermione from an extraordinarily awkward moment. She got to her feet and went right to the front of the classroom and quickly performed the spell - _correctly, too, unlike that bloody showoff_ , she thought - before sitting back down at her seat. Still, her curiosity was getting the best of her; she wanted to know how Riddle had cast a Charm like that without speaking. It wasn't normally done. 

Zauber lectured more on the properties of wandless magic for the rest of the time, and Hermione dutifully took notes. She noticed that Riddle didn't even bother; in fact, he seemed dreadfully bored.

Once class came to an end, Hermione found herself cornering Tom Riddle instead of the other way around. 

"How did you do the Color Change Charm without speaking?" she questioned. He grinned.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he taunted as he turned the tables back in his favor and led her down a fairly abandoned hallway. "You know, I could teach you. You're a very talented witch, Hermione." She crossed her arms and leaned back on the cool stone walls. 

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she told him. He mimicked her, leaning on the wall with such grace that she knew any fancy designer brand, like the ones sold in Harrod's, would be gouging each other's eyes out with safety pins to use him in an advertisement. "And I think it would be best if we make it to our next class, lest anyone discovered us in this conveniently abandoned hallway and began to make assumptions. Incorrect assumptions at that."

"We are on opposite walls, not touching," Tom chuckled. "What would there be to assume?" Hermione watched as he rose back to his feet, his eyes twinkling in a predatory way. "Now," he approached her slowly, and Hermione felt her hand search for her wand instinctively. "If they found us like this..." he placed his hands on either side of her head, effectively trapping her against the wall. "Well then, I can imagine why they would be making assumptions."

Hermione she caught a whiff of his cologne and met his gaze cautiously. "Well, I can't imagine why," she noted. "Now, if you would just let me go..." she tried to slip past him and Riddle grabbed her by the waist.

"I've decided that I'm... interested in you," he told her. "So you're going to be spending time with me." 

"Is that a request?" Hermione raised a brow, searching his eyes to see if there was any sincerity at all in his words. The only thing she found was the devilish glint that never seemed to leave his eyes. She found it strange to think that they would someday be red and serpentine, and not the warm, playful orbs that she found herself momentarily getting lost in before her decency returned to her.

"More of a demand," he cocked his head to the side, grinning. "You'll find I'm very hard to say no to, Miss Granger."

"Why not go after one of the hundreds of girls who are simply swooning over you? Whenever you enter the great hall the estrogen levels in the room rise exponentially." Tom laughed a smooth, yet deadly, laugh at her description of what he did to the female population of the school. 

"None of them have the potential of being useful to me," he explained. As he spoke, Riddle pulled away from Hermione and regained his typical steely composure. "Let's go. We'll be late to potions." Hermione nodded slowly in agreement and walked out of the hall with him, heading down to Slughorn's N.E.W.T. Level potions class.

*****

"Mr. Riddle! I'm amazed you're late to join us, you've never been one for a tardy. I suppose we can let it pass for one day; I'm sure you won't make a habit of it, of course. And who do you have here with you? Is this the illustrious new student Miss Granger that I have heard about? Professor Dumbledore thinks you have the potential to rival even our Tom here in academics, though I know it won't be a cakewalk trying to keep up with him," Slughorn prattled as soon as she and Riddle entered the classroom. Hermione tried her best not to show her annoyance; even fifty years ago Slughorn was an insufferable kiss-ass. 

"This is Miss Granger, yes," Riddle confirmed for Slughorn. "I found her wandering about the halls and helped her get to class. That's why we both are late." Hermione nodded slightly and Slughorn seemed to accept Riddle's excuse. 

"Well then just take your seats! We are going to be talking about how to brew Amortentia," Slughorn informed. Nearly every girl in the class glanced at Riddle at the mere thought. "And... if you all handle this responsibly, perhaps we can brew some small, controlled portions of it."

Hermione had never been in a classroom so quiet, nor she had ever seen so many girls eagerly gather their parchment and quills to take notes. Even Riddle himself had procured a quill and parchment and began to take notes. Hermione found that slightly suspicious; he didn't seem the type to be interested in learning how to brew a love potion of all things, considering his unfortunate beginnings as the byproduct of a love potion.

Hermione wondered if he knew about his mother and her scheming. She imagined he had a clue, considering he had the Gaunt ring in his possession now. But had anyone ever told him just exactly what she had done? 

She felt a pair of eyes on her as Slughorn prattled on about the side effects of prolonged exposure to Amortentia and she glanced over to where Riddle was sitting. 

"Alright, now if everyone could gather 'round; I have already prepared a cauldron of Amortentia myself. As I previously stated, it has a distinct smell for every individual person; no one will smell the same scent," Slughorn explained. Hermione got up and walked over, as did the rest of the class. She expected to smell the scents she had when she associated them with Ron, but instead... 

"Professor, may I ask a question?" she raised her hand slightly and Slughorn nodded to her. "Is... can the smell change depending on attraction?" 

"Hmm... that is a good question, Miss Granger. I suppose it can. But I imagine that if the smell ever changes for an individual that can only mean that a stronger attraction has been found," he replied. "I will read some books and have a better answer for you tomorrow."

Hermione inhaled deeply again, hoping she would smell freshly cut grass, new parchment, spearmint toothpaste, and... and Ron's hair. But her nose had decided to betray her as all she could catch a whiff of was Tom Riddle's cologne, leather-bound books, and cinnamon. She looked down at the swirling, pearlescent concoction and cursed it. There had to be something wrong with Slughorn's potion. That was the only way she would be smelling Riddle and not Ron. Her gaze flitted up and looked directly across from her; Riddle was standing opposite her with an equally puzzled expression on his face. She wondered what he had smelled, if he had smelled anything at all. 

After a few more notes about the potion, Slughorn dismissed them all but requested that Riddle and Hermione remain. She sat at her table uneasily, wondering what the professor would ask or say.

"I have heard from Professor Zauber and Professor Dumbledore that you are a remarkably bright witch, Miss Granger," Slughorn began. "And I'm sure you know that Mr. Riddle here is top of his class here at Hogwarts. You know I was only partially serious when I informed the class that I would be allowing them to be brewing Amortentia; that many young girls with the most powerful love potion known to wizard-kind? That's a disaster waiting to happen. However, I am willing to allow some... select students to try. I had you two in mind. It will call for extra time spent here, under my supervision, but I think it is good for excellent students like you two to experience brewing more advanced potions than the ones we do in class."

Riddle and Hermione both exchanged glances. 

_Surely he can't be serious?_ Hermione thought. 

_This... could prove useful_ , Tom mused before freezing. _Though do you really want to behave like your useless mother and treat her like your bastard of a muggle father?_ He found the answer was a resounding _no_.

"It certainly would be an educating experience, professor-" 

"Wonderful!" Slughorn clapped his hands together before Hermione could finish her sentence and before Riddle could get a word out likewise. "We'll begin this evening, after supper." 

Seeing there was no point in arguing against Slughorn's giddiness, the two turned around and made their way out of the classroom without speaking a word. Hermione could see that Riddle was tense; he didn't want to be making a love potion. Which made sense, and Hermione realized that he did know everything about his mother and her poor choices. 

"Don't worry, I'm not going to try and slip it into your morning pumpkin juice," Hermione teased, trying to lighten the mood. "This should be an exciting educational opportunity, though not as exciting as the time I brewed polyjuice potion during my second year."

Riddle lifted a brow. "You brewed polyjuice potion as a second year? That is... somewhat of a surprise, I must say." Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot and she cursed her quickness to blush.

A somewhat comfortable silence fell between them after that, and they walked quietly to the great hall for lunch. 

*****

"You and Tom Riddle seem peculiarly close all of a sudden," Farina Lovegood, one of Hermione's new acquaintances and a girl whom she assumed was Luna Lovegood's great-aunt, stated. "I'd watch out for him, though. There's something... off about that one." Hermione chuckled a bit at the fact that a Lovegood was accusing someone of being "off," but she supposed that was when you knew that Riddle was up to no good.

"We've just been paired up for a project by Professor Slughorn is all," Hermione dismissed. She sipped her afternoon pumpkin juice and began to think about what her next move would be. Considering nearly every one of her classes was with Riddle, there was no way she could avoid him. And he seemed to be determined to make her one of his "trophies." Voldemort loved trophies, Hermione remembered Harry saying once. 

"What will you be working on?" Farina inquired. 

"Oh, just some potions that are a little too advanced even for the N.E.W.T. students," Hermione said. Which was really the truth. Slughorn was smart not to trust the entire class with Amortentia, but she wasn't sure if he was really smart to trust Tom Riddle with it. 

_Is he smart to trust you with it?_ she thought. 

"Well, that should be interesting. Tom has always been very good with potions," Farina said absentmindedly before staring off into space once more. 

Hermione ate her lunch in relative silence, looking around the great hall and finding comfort in the fact that it hadn't changed much from the time she was in now to her years at school in the nineties. In fact, she was fairly certain very little had changed at all, other than the professors.

"Walk you to class?" A voice that was coming too familiar for Hermione's liking questioned. 

She turned to him and glowered. "I can manage, actually. Thank you," she told him. She could feel the frustration rolling off him from behind her and she smirked. "Have a nice afternoon, Tom," she dismissed without even turning to look at him.

After lunch, Hermione went to transfiguration where she was pulled aside after class by Professor Dumbledore. They sat in his office, which was decorated very similarly to how he would decorate the Headmaster's office later in life. Hermione found it almost peaceful to sit with someone as familiar as him, until he opened his mouth and began to speak.

"Miss Granger, I have looked into your... peculiar situation and I have some unfortunate news," he told her. "In my vast resources, I am afraid that I cannot find a way to send you back to your own time. In fact, I'm not sure if Mr. Riddle would be able to send you back either. So... I'm afraid you are stuck here."

Hermione felt like she had just been punched in the gut by a giant. 

"Then... Then what am I to do, professor?" she asked. Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled like Hermione remembered and she felt sad, but also happy that he was there to help her.

"I would make friends with the best people you can find. If there are dark times ahead, it's important to remember what you value above all else," he replied. "And, and I think this should come before all else, avoid Tom Riddle at all costs. As charming as he may seem, you and I both know what he is capable of - you more than me." Hermione was puzzled a bit by his statement; wouldn't Dumbledore want her to try and change the future?

"But Professor Dumbledore, what if I can stop him from doing all those terrible things?"

"Your idealism is admirable, Miss Granger, but.. for someone like Tom Riddle... I fear the paint is already dry, as they say. Best not to meddle with what has been decided for him." With that, Dumbledore dismissed her and Hermione finished classes for the day feeling more confused than ever. 

*****

Hermione found herself back in the Ravenclaw common room, curled up with a book as a fire crackled merrily in the fireplace. It was almost suppertime, but she didn't think there would be much of a fuss if she was late. 

"Hermione, there was a note for you; someone slipped it under the door," Farina said, handing the folded piece of parchment to her. Her name was written on the front of it in a neat, elegant hand. "I wonder who it could be..." Farina sat down next to her on the sofa and watched as Hermione opened it.

"Ugh, it's Riddle," she huffed as her eyes scanned the note.

_Hermione,_

_Meet me near the Prefects' bathroom. I would like to meet with you before we begin our project for Professor Slughorn._

_~ Tom_

Hermione was annoyed at the lack of time or further instructions, but got to her feet and grabbed her bag. Her footfalls echoed down the surprisingly quiet halls as she rounded the corner toward the Prefects' bathroom. She was familiar with it, having been a Prefect herself once upon a time. 

Riddle was waiting for her when she got there. He turned to face her but didn't smile. In fact, he didn't say anything to her as he moved to walk into the bathroom. Hermione followed, but she didn't know why she dared to considering it was a well-known fact that the Basilisk liked to travel through the pipes of the school. Still, Hermione imagined that if he wanted to kill her he would just use the killing curse. 

Once they were inside the Prefects' bathroom, Riddle stood in front of the giant bathtub, his arms crossed over his chest. Hermione gulped; he seemed extra intimidating.

"You called this meeting. Obviously you have something you want to talk about," she said. 

"If we are going to be working together, I want to lay down a few guidelines," he stated. His voice was steely and Hermione knew he was not messing around. The hazel eyes she found rather pretty at times were just as cold as his voice, and his jaw was taut. Her stomach fluttered slightly, and Hermione wondered where such a reaction was coming from. 

"Alright. Let me hear them," Hermione mimicked his body language and noticed how his mask broke for a moment when she did. 

"First things first. If I am going to call you Hermione, you are going to call me Tom. Second, I am in charge of this project with Professor Slughorn. Therefore, you do as I tell you. No more, no less. And if you don't do as I say... there could be some form of punishment involved." His eyes danced mischievously at the thought and Hermione was fairly sure her heart skipped a beat.

"What if I don't want to be punished? And what if I want to work alone?" Hermione retorted. 

"I don't think you want to know what will happen," he snarled. "Do you really want to keep taunting me when you know what I'm capable of? Because I don't think you want to." Hermione raised a brow and stepped closer to him so she was definitely invading his space.

"Would you really kill the one person who could help you change your future?"

"Um, hello?" The two quickly moved apart at the sound of another voice. They turned around quickly and saw a Hufflepuff Prefect standing just inside the doorway. "Oh, hello Tom. Who do you have with you?"

Instead of answering the Prefect's question, he simply brushed a hand down his robes and breezed out the doorway without a single word. 

"Unbelievable," Hermione huffed. "He really thinks that he can just... ugh!" She threw her hands up in anger and made her way out of the bathroom to the great hall. She sat with Farina, but the two said nothing between Hermione's glowering and Farina's typical faraway state. 

"Merlin's beard, what did you do to her?" Abraxas Malfoy questioned Riddle over at the Slytherin table. "She looks almost murderous." 

"I did absolutely nothing," Tom sniffed. "I simply tried to lay down a few ground rules before we begin our project together for Slughorn, and she refused them all." Avery and Lestrange both perked up at his words and turned to look at him with their lips curling into devilish grins. They knew what Tom's tone of voice meant; they were going to at least scare her into doing whatever it is Tom wants her to do. 

"Well what are you going to do about it?" Avery inquired. 

Tom thought for a second. He had been rattled since potions class that morning when, much to his surprise, Amortentia had smelled like ink and parchment, roses, and rain. He hadn't thought he would smell anything; he'd never been drawn to anyone before. And to make matters worse, he didn't associate those scents with anyone.

He was certain Fate was playing tricks on him.

"You all just leave that up to me," he said. "I think I can handle Hermione Granger on my own."

*****

It was nearly eight o'clock when Hermione finally made it to the potions classroom. Riddle was already there, seated with Professor Slughorn and laughing about something that Slughorn must have said. Hermione noted that he would have made a great politician if he had gone about things the right way; he had an extremely convincing fake laugh. 

"Ah, Hermione!" Slughorn greeted. "Come in, come in! We were about to start looking at the potions book that I use to make Amortentia." She sat down, putting a chair between her and Tom as Slughorn puttered off to get the book.

"Have you thought any more about my rules?" Tom asked in a soft voice. Hermione didn't look at him but nodded. "And?"

"I'm not one to be controlled, Tom Riddle," she replied. He chuckled, low and dark in his chest, and Hermione barely repressed a shiver. 

"You never know; you might find that you enjoy it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Dumbledore is worried, and Slughorn is basically an idiot. Some things never change, I suppose.  
> Don't forget to leave kudos/drop a comment! I would love to hear from y'all!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late nights working on love potions sometimes can be more interesting than one would think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Lovely to hear from some of you! Don't forget to drop some kudos/comments after reading!

They worked into the late hours of the night on the potion. Hermione begrudgingly worked alongside Riddle, doing whatever he told her to do. Slughorn flitted in and out of the room, which she found amusing, considering he had promised to supervise them as they worked. It was coming close to midnight when they finally finished the potion. Hermione was tired, and she found herself staring at Riddle's hand and the way it wrapped around the cauldron ladle just so. He caught her staring and he grinned. 

"What does it smell like to you?" he asked her. 

"Like one of my friends back home," Hermione lied. It smelled even more like Riddle, but she considered it was possibly because he was right next to her. She inhaled slowly and exhaled with a shudder. "I... I miss him very much." 

Tom's grip on the ladle tightened slightly. "And what was so special about this friend of yours?" Hermione chuckled and got up from her seat, stretching her arms above her head. 

"Well, for starters, he was everything you're not," Hermione told him, walking around the table and leaning toward him. She flashed him a playful grin of her own and he rolled his eyes. "And... he was my best friend. One of my best friends. I think that's the best kind of attraction, really; when you're friends and then you fall for each other." 

"From what I've seen, those people always end up boring and... predictable," he said. Hermione snorted. "What's so funny?"

"What would you know about people who are in love?" 

Hermione realized she had said the wrong thing when she saw his body tense. He stalked over to where she was, pinning her against the table. Her heart started to race; his eyes were blazing and when she looked at his hands his knuckles were turning white from how hard he was gripping the table. Tom's hair was falling in his face, making him look even more mad than Hermione knew him to be. He dipped his head lower, and she felt his lips brush against her ear. They were warm and soft and Hermione shuddered at the heat of his breath on her skin.

"I know that people who are in love are the biggest fools in the universe," he murmured. "And I do not suffer fools, Hermione Granger." Hermione held her breath, trembling slightly.

"Not testing out that potion are we, Mr. Riddle?" 

Hermione jumped and Tom immediately released her at the sound of Professor Slughorn's voice. "Of course not, professor," he stated smoothly. "In fact, we were just finishing up. You'll find the potion brewed successfully." Slughorn's eyes lit up and he looked in the cauldron, smiling. 

"Indeed it is!" he exclaimed. "Brilliant job, both of you! I imagine you're tired, so I will clean up and off you go!" Hermione was quick to leave, scrambling up to the Ravenclaw common room before Tom left.

*****

Hermione nearly collapsed onto her bed up in the girls' dormitory. She really needed to sleep, but her mind was busy trying to process her interactions with none other than Tom Riddle himself. They had known each other officially for a day and a half, and already things seemed to be spinning out of control. And the fact that she couldn't return home and escape from the past... it made Hermione consider her options. 

She could wait everything out, maybe get a job with the Ministry, but that could easily make her a target for Tom and his cronies later on. That would just turn into an even bigger mess. 

She could try and find someone, settle down, lead a normal life, but that could also put not only herself but innocents in danger as well. Either way she looked, she would be putting herself in the line of fire. Because she knew one way or another that Riddle would come looking for her; he needed his award, his oracle, his trophy. The thought scared Hermione; he would take whatever information he needed from her and he would become unstoppable. She didn't want to give him that kind of power.

And then it hit her.

She needed to have power over him. Hermione knew that Riddle would do anything to keep himself from dying, even if it meant changing his game. She could manipulate him with her knowledge of the future. 

_But if he's not happy with what you tell him, he can always search your mind_ , she mused. It had not been a pleasant feeling, having her mind probed that first night. The only way she could keep him from attacking her mind was by learning Occlumency; a skill that was extremely difficult to master and harder still to teach. Besides, who would be able to teach her? Snape had tried to instruct Harry, and had been fairly unsuccessful despite his own personal skills as an Occlumens. 

"Dumbledore!" Hermione exclaimed, sitting up. She felt stupid for forgetting! Albus Dumbledore was a very skilled Occlumens, and an excellent teacher. 

Hermione climbed out of bed and slipped on her slippers before creeping out of the dormitory and out into the halls of the castle. It was late, and very likely that no one was on patrol at the time, but she was certain that Dumbledore would likely be awake. 

" _Lumos_ ," Hermione mumbled, using the light from the tip of her wand to guide her to Dumbledore's office. She knocked three times and was admitted.

"Miss Granger, I must say I'm surprised to find you out and about, not to mention breaking curfew. However, I was known to break the rules once in a while myself as a student. What can I help you with?" he inquired. Hermione sat down in one of the plain leather armchairs that faced his desk and fiddled with her wand.

"Professor, I've come up with a plan to deal with Riddle. But... part of it would involve me trying to become an Occlumens. As you know, Riddle is already a skilled Legilimens. If... If I am going to try and manipulate him-" 

"You would need my knowledge of Occlumency," Dumbledore finished. "To protect yourself lest he saw through any lie you might try to feed him. Miss Granger, that is a very fool-hardy and dangerous idea. Some might say that only a Gryffindor could think up something like that." Hermione chuckled and thought of Ron and Harry, and how they had done quite a few fool-hardy and dangerous things in the name of defeating Lord Voldemort. "I hope you are not still hung up on the idea of... trying to rehabilitate Mr. Riddle. I have known him longer than you have, Miss Granger, and the twisted mind you see now has deep roots."

"I know that, but-"

"Your... compassion for him is touching. But believe me, once someone is that far gone... there is not much you can do to save them," he sighed. Hermione realized he was thinking about Grindelwald and she smiled slightly.

"Professor Dumbledore, with all due respect, but... maybe you couldn't save Grindelwald, but maybe I can save Tom Riddle." Dumbledore sighed and rose from his seat at his desk and moved around it so he could be closer to Hermione. His gaze felt almost too strong, and Hermione remembered all of a sudden that Dumbledore too had been a Legilimens. She didn't feel she had anything to hide from him, however, and his searching felt far less... penetrative than Riddle's.

"You've inspired most peculiar behavior from him, Miss Granger. And the fact that you... smelled him while brewing Armortentia... that's very disconcerting. If you let your emotions rule your decisions, he will succeed in manipulating you and you will be another trophy for him," Dumbledore warned. "But, if you wish, we can begin your Occlumency lessons this evening." 

Hermione grinned slightly and rose to her feet. "Thank you, professor. Thank you so much."

She turned her back on him to exit only to have Dumbledore speak up once more. "You may find that the skill of Occlumency will come difficultly. I've found that those who wear their hearts on their sleeves oftentimes struggle the most. Keep that in mind." Hermione bit her lip; that had to be why Harry had struggled so much to learn the skill. He was passionate and open and never held back. Hermione, on the other hand, was more than capable at being reserved and calm. She was balanced. She hoped. 

"I will, professor," she assured. "Goodnight." 

"Goodnight, Miss Granger."

Hermione crept out into the hall and began her silent trek back up to her dormitory. It was terribly dark, and she had a strange feeling that something was different this time as she walked back. 

She had turned the last corner to make it to the Ravenclaw common room when she saw someone approaching her with their own wand lit. Hermione was quick to command hers to dim, and pressed herself against the wall, hoping whoever was wandering the halls at night had not seen her. 

Of course, she had never been that lucky.

"Hermione Granger," Tom shook his head. "Breaking curfew I see. And just where were you coming back from at such a late hour?" She stayed silent, avoiding his gaze. "Very well. I'll just have a look for myself-"

"I was speaking with Professor Dumbledore," Hermione blurted out. She couldn't make out his features because he had dimmed his wand as soon as he saw it was her, but she could have sworn he lifted a brow. "I was asking him about Grindelwald." This earned her a chuckle, and Hermione took a deep breath. He'd bought it.

"Don't lie to me," he purred. "You're not that hard to read now, Granger. You asked him about Occlumency." Hermione gasped as he pressed himself against her; she could feel every inch of him through his robes, and she was amazed at the heat that radiated from him. She had always expected Voldemort to feel cold to the touch. "It's endearing how you think you can keep lying to me. You know, when my... sycophants lie to me, I use them for practice. What should I practice on you, Granger? What could I do to make you squirm the next time you see me?" Hermione sneered at him and went to raise her wand, only to disarmed with a flick of his wrist. "Again, how endearing. So what will it be, Granger? What should I do to you to keep you from lying to me?"

Hermione wanted to tell him to fuck off; it was ridiculously unfair now, considering she was disarmed and he stood well above her mere height of five-foot-five. 

Riddle grew impatient with her and spun her around so her face was pressed into the cold stone instead. Again, he pressed himself against her and Hermione felt her stomach clench. She knew what he wanted, and she would not give him the satisfaction. 

"How would you feel, Hermione?" he murmured into her ear as he tucked a stray curl behind it. "How would you feel if I took you right here in this hallway? What would you do? Scream? Cry, perhaps? Or... perhaps you would like it?" Hermione gasped as she felt his long fingers slip beneath the blue nightgown she was wearing. His touch was searing hot and she whimpered as he simply brushed the edge of her knickers. "I think you would like it. In fact, I think you'd beg for it. You'd want me to take you like a common whore and risk our fellow students, and the professors seeing us. You'd get off on it; the excitement, the danger."

"I don't even think I would notice if you were there," Hermione breathed. 

Tom snarled at that and rolled his hips roughly against her ass. Hermione bit back a soft moan as she felt her knickers begin to grow damp. She felt a bit disgusted with herself; she had always said that she would never enjoy a man who was rough with her - sexually, of course; any roughness anywhere else in a relationship would mean immediate termination of said relationship - yet here she was, mewling like a kitten for Tom Riddle.

Just when the friction started to get really good, he abruptly stopped, fixed his robes, and left Hermione panting against a wall.

"Fuck, Riddle," she gasped. "That isn't... fair." He retrieved her wand for her and placed it in her hand.

"Think about that the next time you try to lie to me," he told her sternly. She couldn't tell if he was affected at all by what they had just done; he seemed as icy and disconnected as ever. Without another word, he headed off in the direction of the Slytherin common room with a simple flourish of his robes.

Hermione made her way up to the dormitory, trying to ignore the dull ache between her thighs. She decided immediately to skip the first two classes of her day as her head hit the pillow. 

"Where have you been?" Farina asked her out of the blue, making Hermione jump. 

"Just... needed to take a walk, clear my head," Hermione told her. Farina nodded, but then she laughed softly and climbed over to Hermione's bed. "What is it?"

"You smell like Tom Riddle's cologne," she said. "I recognize the citrus of it." Hermione lifted her nightgown to her nose and her eyes widened. She practically reeked of his cologne, and she was sure that all the girls on her floor would know who that smell belonged to. "Did you go see him? I didn't know that you two were going steady. That's pretty fast; you've just met him."

"We most certainly are not going steady, Farina," Hermione assured. "Like you said, I've just met him!" Her attention was drawn away because the sun was starting to shine through the windows. Usually Hermione liked to rise with the sun; now she was going to sleep instead. "Oh, and Farina, I won't be in class today so could you take some notes for me?" The blonde nodded and moved back to her own bed, curling up beneath the covers to steal a couple hours of sleep. Hermione herself nestled beneath her own, trying not to think about the ache between her thighs or the smell of Tom on her nightgown.

*****

"So you're saying you had her right where you wanted her... and then you let her go?" Abraxas Malfoy asked, laying backward across his bed so he was looking at Riddle upside down as he paced the length of the dormitory. He had never, in all their years at Hogwarts, seen Riddle so frazzled. And over a girl, no less! 

"Yes, and I... ugh... I don't... I don't know what came over me!" Riddle exclaimed. He wasn't so much angry at himself for letting Granger go as he was for the way he had behaved. He'd never been a creature of lust.

"Well," Lestrange began as he sat up in bed, "this is what you ought to do, my lord. Next time you see her, you gotta go up to her all smooth-like, and then-"

"What if I just avoid her?" Riddle asked. This idea forced Avery to sit up as well, baffled at the mere thought. "What would happen? Maybe... Maybe I would get her out of my head and I would stop having all these terrible feelings for her. I have no time to be distracted by some foolish girl." 

"Well, I don't know. Maybe she would be a good thing. A... welcome distraction," Abraxas suggested. "It could all be a part of your act, my lord. Head Boy leaves Hogwarts and marries girl of his dreams; becomes a responsible husband and father by day, and well... at night you do as you please."

Tom understood what Abraxas was getting at, but he couldn't ever imagine himself... settled. He tried to picture himself living somewhere in England, perhaps in London, with a proper job and a wife. It didn't suit him. 

"So you think we should change our plans?" he accused. Malfoy shook his head, silver-blond hair falling in his face as he did so.

"Of course not, my lord. But... if our plan is to infiltrate the Ministry of Magic, well, what better way than having Hogwarts' illustrious Head Boy take a position with them after school? You'd settle in the city somewhere, with Granger, and she'd play the insipid little wife who would host your coworkers - make them tea and cakes, serve cocktails, you know, wifely things - while you would work your way through the Ministry until one day you're Minister for Magic and the entire wizarding world of Great Britain looks toward you for guidance and leadership."

Avery and Lestrange exchanged looks. They did like the sound of Tom becoming Minister for Magic; it would mean good things and good jobs for them.

"If you think she would play along with that, though..." Tom chuckled. "Abraxas, it is wonderful to see your brain has reached formal operation, but you forget that marriage often involves... willingness from both parties. And I think you'll find two very unwilling participants in myself and Miss Granger." Not that it wouldn't be fun to wed and bed her, but Tom had more important things on his mind than... women. 

"But think about it, Tom," Lestrange began. "Er, my lord. She knows things that have yet to come to pass... everything could change, just by you figuring out how to get to her."

"But if she's going to Dumbledore to learn Occlumency, like you said, what's the point? She could completely and utterly ruin everything if she became successful at the skill," Avery argued. "Do you really want some girl to become a liability if she decided to turn on us? And who's saying she will turn just because Tom's shoving his dick into her every once in a while?"

"Charming, Avery," Tom sneered. He made a note to punish him for his crude language later.

"I'm just saying," Avery sighed. "If you think that she's valuable, just get what you need from her and then finish her. No point in keeping her around after she's finished being useful. And just the thought of marrying that frizzy-haired know-it-all makes my skin crawl. If you want to get married, pick a girl who you know comes from a good family, a pureblood family." 

"That's true," Abraxas noted. "You don't even know her blood status. I wouldn't even lay a hand on her if she turned out to be a mudblood." 

"All the more reason to end her once she's been useful," Avery pointed out. 

Tom thought about that. He vaguely remembered finding something in Hermione's mind that her parents were muggle dentists. If his sycophants found out that she was not a pureblood, they would lose it. And he would lose his credibility because he had touched her. 

"Maybe not," Tom pointed out. "Marrying a mudblood, no matter how foul, might give off an image of tolerance that would sway people into feeling much... safer."

"Oh, but would you really want to fuck her knowing your children would have to claim their mother is a mudblood? I would never want to embarrass my family in such a way," Abraxas muttered. Tom raised a brow at him.

"Who said anything about children?" he scoffed. 

"You... You do know how children are made, don't you?" Lestrange asked, a bit of amusement barely hidden in his voice. Tom rolled his eyes and started to gather his things to go shower in the Prefects' bathroom before breakfast. 

"Of course I do," he replied. "And you've earned yourself some... practice time for that, Lestrange." 

Tom was relieved when he reached the Prefects' bathroom and found it practically abandoned. He stepped into one of the shower stalls, drawing the first curtain, and stripping out of his clothes before stepping into the shower and drawing the second curtain between the stall and the shower itself. He turned on the water, setting it as hot as he could without it feeling like it was scalding his skin. He rested one hand on the tile wall, thinking about his options. He couldn't deny what he had done thus far, nor could he ignore some sort of... arousal... he felt whenever he was around Miss Granger. 

"She's not even that pretty," he muttered to himself. "And a mudblood... how unfortunate. That's reason enough already not to want her." He sighed and rolled his shoulders, before realizing that a certain part of his anatomy had betrayed his reasoning. "Oh, fuck me." 

He'd never been one to... masturbate before; in fact, Tom prided himself in having very good control over his body and its reactions. Begrudgingly, he wrapped his hand around his length and began to think about his encounter with Granger that past evening. He kept a steady pace, trying hard to just take care of his unfortunate erection, but orgasm seemed to evade him. 

"For fuck's sake!" he hissed. His hips bucked erratically and eventually he found the right touch and found his release, leaning against the wall as his chest rose and fell.

After washing up, Tom got out of the shower, and charmed his clothes from the night before so they would be clean and ready for class. He also used a drying spell that he'd learned from Abraxas to dry himself off before getting dressed and heading down to the great hall for breakfast. 

He found himself out of focus; his gaze kept slipping to the empty spot next to Farina Lovegood, and found himself wondering where Hermione was. Had he hurt her? Or was she just trying to avoid him? 

As soon as Farina got up to go to her divination class, Tom got to his feet and followed her out of the hall. "Farina, where's Hermione?" he asked as he caught up with her. The blonde girl looked at him, her eyes twinkling with a knowing glint. He wondered what she had been looking for in her divination class.

"She's not feeling too well so she's missing her classes today. At least her morning ones, that is," she explained. "Why? Did you want to talk to her? I could take her a note if you wanted me to." Tom shook his head and felt himself frown.

"It's... It's okay. Thanks, Farina," he assured her as he made his way toward the Ravenclaw common room. 

Hermione was curled up in a chair, reading _Hogwarts: A History_ in her pajamas. Every once in a while she would lift the collar of them and take a gentle whiff of the cologne that had started to wear off, but her bedding smelled like it now. She was convinced that it was going to take a long time to get her bedding to stop smelling like him. 

_Can you imagine what his bed smells like?_ she thought, before immediately swatting the idea away. 

There was a knock on the door and she didn't even bother looking up; someone probably forgot a textbook and had ran back to get it before class started. She turned a page in her book and tucked her legs beneath herself as she started to read about Dumbledore's time at Hogwarts. The door opened and Hermione continued to read until whoever had entered the common room got close enough that she could smell them. 

"Riddle, what are you doing in here?" she asked without even looking up from her book. 

"I wanted to know why you're skipping class today," he told her. "That doesn't seem like something a bright young witch would do." Hermione flipped another page and Tom crossed around and moved to sit opposite her. 

"I'll have you know I'm a little exhausted from last night's encounter and I planned on trying to enjoy my morning at a more leisurely pace," she informed. "Also, it is not your business to keep track of where I am and what I'm doing, Riddle. Now if you would please leave; I imagine you also have a class to get to and you, unlike me, are Head Boy." She glanced up at him only for a moment before looking back down at her book. 

"You know, Abraxas came up with a rather brilliant idea early this morning about how we could use you to your full potential," he informed her, sitting back in his chair. 

"And what would Mr. Malfoy's brilliant idea entail?" Hermione inquired, faking interest. Tom could hear the sarcasm in her voice and he chuckled; she was not one to go down without a fight, even in a simple conversation. "I'm surprised he's capable of brilliant thought at all, actually. Must be all the inbreeding that led me to think that."

Riddle snorted. "Your sharp tongue could get you hurt someday," he told her. "But, Abraxas' plan... well, I think it would benefit both of us very well. He thinks that we, meaning you and I, should... enter into a relationship, possibly an engagement and eventual marriage, as to keep up appearances while I try to infiltrate the Ministry of Magic. Of course, I found the idea quite... disagreeable, but I supposed I would inform you of it because, well, Avery's idea was much less pleasant for you."

"That just may be one of the worst marriage proposals I've ever heard," Hermione told him. "Is that what that's supposed to be? Mr. Darcy's first proposal was more eloquent than that." Tom's brow scrunched at the reference and she was surprised he, having grown up in the muggle world, didn't know Austen. "And also, what makes you think I would be willing to settle down and be a housewife? I want to work." She finally looked him directly in the eye. "Additionally, I don't know you very well, and in my time you are the most evil wizard to ever walk the earth. What makes you think for even a second that I would be comfortable in a relationship with you, let alone marrying you?"

"Because when I do come into power it guarantees you safety," he replied. "Your... blood status leaves something to be desired on its own, but when you're hidden under the guise of my wife... well, no one would even think that you're anything but a pureblood." 

Hermione had never been so offended in all her life; even when Malfoy had called her terrible names because of her being muggle-born, she had always just dealt with him as need-be because he was a little pest. But Riddle... Riddle wasn't trying to tease her or upset her, and that almost made it worse. Before she knew what she was doing, she was on her feet, and walked right in front of him and slapped him across the face with all her might. He didn't even react; simply reached up and rubbed his pale cheek that was turning red rather quickly. 

"Does that give you your answer?" she hissed. Tom said nothing, and got to his feet and strode quickly toward the door before turning back and looking at her.

"You're going to regret that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Tom is the one who's giving into their *ahem* frustrations first. Not surprising; temper, temper!
> 
> I probably will give one more chapter of school stuff before Tom's plan starts rolling into action. Probably a Slug Club chapter, might have a Duelling Club incident.   
> Mwah!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione returns to class, and doesn't hesitate to show what she knows when Tom tries to beat her in a duel. 
> 
> Slug Club is the worst (as usual).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! My first bookmark! That makes me so happy! I'm so glad y'all are liking this; I've been really worried.

Hermione wondered what Riddle had meant as she went to the lavatory to get ready for the second half of her day. At this point in his life, he was dangerous and he did have an army of cronies who would do whatever he asked of them, but he didn't have power or influence. He was still just a boy. His threats could mean he planned to harm her, but Hermione really didn't care what he tried to do. She had survived the Cruciatus curse before - performed by a woman whose specialty it was - and had lived to tell the tale. Hermione bore the terrible scar on her arm as a reminder of it. It had been something she had covered up almost immediately after arriving in the past; if anyone had seen the crude word carved into her skin, there would be questions, and Hermione didn't want to give answers. Her answers would endanger her.

Turning on the shower, Hermione stepped into the stall and undressed before drawing a curtain between her clothes and the shower itself. She sighed and began to scrub furiously at herself. The fact that Lord Voldemort had put his hands on her quite often in the past forty-eight hours made her sick, and the scrubbing feeling made her feel clean. Moving onto her hair, she used a potion a fellow frizzy-haired classmate had loaned her that was supposed to work a bit like a smoothing potion. It smelled awful, but Hermione could feel the effects of it almost immediately; she could run her fingers through her hair without catching snarl after snarl. She made a note to order some more of it when she had time, taking note of the brand. 

Once she was done, she procured her favorite cream out of her beaded bag - which she had found among her old clothes earlier in the day, much to her delight - and inhaled the rose scent deeply. It was a nice lotion, from an expensive shop on Diagon Alley, and Harry had gotten it for her for her birthday one year. Hermione felt a small pang of homesickness at the thought, but she shook it off as she wrapped a towel around herself and stepped out of the shower. 

Dressing in fresh school robes, Hermione smiled slightly at the familiarity of them. The school robes were a little more conservative than in her own time, but her fellow Ravenclaw girls had taught her how to alter the hem so it would be, in their words, "cuter."

When she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, she frowned slightly. The smoothing wash she'd been given had straightened her hair, but had left it stick straight. If they had been in the 1960s, the hairstyle would have been fine, but Hermione knew that stick-straight hair was a no-go in the 1940s. Hermione tried to recall the trends of the time, and found herself thinking of rainy Saturdays with her grandmother, watching old movies on the telly. One particular film came to mind, and Hermione chuckled as she pointed her wand at her hair.

In an instant, her hair was neatly coiffed and styled, just like Ingrid Bergman in _Casablanca_. Hermione was grateful for those days with her grandmother, and if she ever got back to her own time she would have to go see her. That was a big "if," of course, but she hoped for the best.

When she exited the lavatory, she made her way down to lunch. On her way, she bumped into a gaggle of Slytherin girls who all gave her the once-over. She recognized one as Druella Rosier. who would be Bellatrix Lestrange's mother. Her youngest daughter, Narcissa, resembled her so strikingly that when Hermione had first seen her that she had thought Narcissa was at Hogwarts. Her blue eyes flitted over Hermione with disinterest, a pureblood sneer plastered on her face. 

"Riddle's been looking for you," she told her. "Said he's coming for you in Defence class today. Best be careful; I would, if I was you." Her fellow Slytherin girls all giggled and hurried off to lunch after the exchange, but Druella lingered.

"Thanks, Druella," Hermione replied. "But I can take care of myself." 

The blonde witch's lips curled into a smirk, and she looked Hermione over again. "You look good, Granger," she complimented. "But don't think that you can mess around; I don't know what game you're playing at, but Riddle isn't the kind of guy you play games with."

"And just what kind of guy is he, Druella?" she inquired innocently. 

"He runs the games," Druella warned. "Just... be careful, okay? He doesn't mess around. Everything he does is intense, serious... he doesn't have time for nonsense." And without another word, the blonde turned on her heel and walked into the great hall for lunch. Hermione followed, sitting down with Farina who was happy to see her.

"You look different! Good different, I guess. I don't know," Farina sighed. "Did you have a nice break?" Hermione nodded, filling up her glass with pumpkin juice and grabbing some things to put together a sandwich. It had been nice to spend the morning free from Riddle, save one encounter that had left her confused and surprised. She thought about what Druella had told her and wondered if it was part of whatever game he was trying to play with her. 

"Oh, Miss Granger!" 

Hermione nearly groaned aloud. Slughorn was on his way down the aisle between her current table and her former table. He seemed all aflutter, and she could only imagine what he was thinking. Or wasn't thinking. Either guess was safe with Slughorn.

"Yes, professor?" she turned to him and tried to hide her annoyance. 

He smoothed his robes and held out a stack of parchment. "You were not in class this morning and I was not the only one concerned; our distinguished Mr. Riddle took it upon himself to take your notes for you, and asked me to deliver them to you with the warmest regards and the hope for a speedy recovery," he explained. Hermione eyed the stack wearily; he could have very easily put a curse or hex on them that would attack when she touched them. He was clever to have a professor deliver them to her in front of the whole student body.

Just then, however, Farina handed some parchment to her and Hermione almost sighed aloud in relief.

"That's very kind of him, professor, but one of my classmates had already volunteered her services," Hermione smiled genuinely and watched as Slughorn frowned. He wasn't displeased for long though, as Hermione visibly watched him brighten and turn to another subject.

"Very well, Miss Granger. Quite alright. Though it won't be long I imagine until you and Tom are willing to share plenty," he winked and Hermione felt squeamish. Obviously the boundaries that teachers rarely crossed in her time were fair game in the forties. At least to Slughorn. "Which reminds me; I wanted to talk to you about this after class today, but seeing as you were not there, I decided to wait. I have a little club, you see, for my high-achieving students. We meet and have dinner on a semi-regular basis and I have people from the Ministry come and speak. Very good for those who want a job there after Hogwarts. I wanted to extend an invitation to you; we are meeting this Friday next." Hermione rolled her eyes; she was being asked to join the Slug Club yet again. Still, it would be another chance to interact with Riddle in a safe environment. And in all honesty, Hermione hadn't loathed the club; it had always been interesting to interact with people who worked for the Ministry, no matter how dry some of them had been. 

"I would be happy to join your club, Professor Slughorn," she said. He clapped his hands together and Hermione thought he was about to break out in a jig.

"Wonderful! I will see you in class, and I will see you that evening!" Slughorn returned to the head table with a little pep in his step, and Hermione wondered what she had gotten herself into. She had a fleeting suspicion that Horace Slughorn was trying to play matchmaker between her and Tom Riddle, and it made her head pound to think about it. 

Unsurprisingly, Tom didn't wait for her to walk her to Defence Against the Dark Arts. She watched as he stalked out of the great hall, likely fuming that whatever he had done to those papers had been thwarted. Hermione thought about Druella's words and how he planned on going after her during the class they were both heading toward. Of course, Hermione felt much more confident in her dueling skills now that she had been through a war. And Tom Riddle might already have the power to be a Dark Lord, he might already have horcruxes, but Hermione imagined that he hadn't ever encountered anyone who would put up a fight if he came after them. 

*****

When Hermione and Farina reached the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, they both were surprised to see the room completely cleared. Hermione recognized the new centerpiece; it was the dueling platform that Professor Snape and the fraud Gilderoy Lockhart - and later Harry and Draco - had dueled on during their second year. She winced at the memory of that year; Hermione herself had been petrified by the Basilisk after seeing it in a hand mirror. Also, she remembered her embarrassing crush on Lockhart because he had seemed like Mr. Wonderful when in reality he was nothing more than a thief and a fool. Ron and Harry had enjoyed teasing her about that silly crush, and still did on a regular basis... well, they had. 

Professor Merrythought was on the platform, standing in the middle with a knowing smile on her face. "Good afternoon, class. Today, we will be practicing practical dueling. This is an important and valuable skill for all witches and wizards, though one would hope you never have to use these skills in real life," she stated with a chuckle. "Today we will be dueling only to disarm. Anyone who tries to use any harmful spells or hexes will find themselves in the Headmaster's office faster than they can say gillyweed. Am I understood?" 

Hermione doubted that Riddle would obey her rules, but everyone nodded.

"Very good," Merrythought grinned. "Do I have any volunt--Ah, yes, Mr. Riddle. Any volunteers from Ravenclaw?" Riddle's gaze flitted to Hermione, and she was too busy staring him down to notice how all her classmates had taken rather large steps backward, leaving her in front of all of them. "Ah. Miss Granger. Of course my two best students would choose to duel."

Hermione and Riddle approached the middle of the platform, gazes harsh and angry. They bowed to each other then turn their backs on each other. Hermione started to think what her first spell would be; she didn't want to play dirty, but she knew he would so she imagined all cards were off the table. 

The room was filled with electricity due to the promise that the top students in their year were about to duel. The Slytherins were all cheering for Tom, telling him to get her and other terrible things while the entirety of Ravenclaw's seventh years were collectively holding their breath as Hermione and Riddle turned back to face each other. 

" _Everte Statum_!" Hermione shouted. The Banishing Charm hit Riddle square in the chest and propelled him backward almost off the end of the platform.

The Ravenclaws broke their silence, oohing and aahing at Hermione's choice of spell. The Slytherins were in shock and hushed. Riddle got back to his feet, however, his face momentarily contorted in rage before his expression turned icy again. Hermione threw a disarming spell at him, but he easily deflected it and muttered something and flicked his wand at her. Rope shot up from the floor and Hermione gasped as it tied her wrists together. She quickly set the rope on fire to free herself and decided to test him a little. 

" _Confringo_!" The blasting curse caused Riddle to stumble, but the rage in his eyes remained. He knew that she wasn't messing around now.

He threw another spell that she didn't recognize, and while Hermione had managed to block it partially, her arm felt like it was on fire. Whatever he had done, it had to be Dark magic. But the spell was barely detectable, so Merrythought probably had no idea what Riddle had done. Hermione decided that two could play at that game, recalling a spell that Severus Snape himself had come up with. 

She threw the spell at him without thinking about the consequences. 

It was a strong hit, straight to the chest. The look of surprise on Riddle's face as his face and torso were slashed as if by a sword was enough to make Hermione feel guilty immediately. Merrythought gasped and shot Hermione a look before running to Riddle's side. She sent a student to get the Healer, and Hermione shakily got down from the platform. 

"What was that?" Farina asked. She didn't seem to be judging, just surprised. 

"I... something an old teacher taught me," Hermione admitted. It was the truth, somewhat, though Snape had never taught that spell to anyone. 

The whole classroom was silent as the healer ran in and began to bind the wounds. Hermione glanced back up at the platform; Tom's side was covered in crimson red blood. Every Slytherin was glaring daggers at her and all the Ravenclaws save for Farina seemed scared of her. The Healer had Tom carried out on a stretcher. His wand was on the platform and Hermione noticed that no one else had seen it there but her. Once the classroom had cleared out, she got back up on the platform and picked it up, wiping off the blood on her robes before pocketing it. She would give it back to him later. If he wanted to see her, that is. She doubted that he would be talking to her anytime soon. 

*****

It was the middle of the night before she bucked up the courage to go see him. He was still in the hospital wing, but Druella had told her that they had gotten the bleeding to stop.

She also had reported that he was furious. 

Hermione cast a simple disillusionment charm so she could get into the hospital wing, and found him laying in the last bed of the row of beds. He was sleeping, but Hermione wasn't completely sure if he was asleep or faking it. With a sigh, she removed the charm and cautiously approached his bedside. 

"Tom..." she whispered. "Are you awake?" 

He didn't respond at first, and Hermione smiled in relief. 

Until he lunged upward and wrapped his hands around her throat. 

"What did you do to me?" he hissed. "What did you do, Hermione?! I've never seen that magic before and I have seen it all. Tell me! Tell me now or I will kill you the old-fashioned way." She clawed at his hands but to no avail. Even after losing all that blood he was still much stronger than her. "Tell me, Hermione. Now!"

"I... I learned it from a teacher," she rasped. "He liked Dark... magic." She coughed slightly.

Tom apparently didn't buy it and tightened his grip around her throat. Hermione began to see spots and she was afraid that she was going to pass out, or worse that he was going to choke her death. Just as she was scared she was going to pass out, he released his hold on her and she gasped for breath. He smirked smugly at her as she lay across his bed, her chest rising and falling. It was only then that she realized she was somewhat... aroused. 

"I should go," she mumbled as she got slowly to her feet. Tom grabbed her arm and pulled her back down onto the bed, kissing her suddenly. She moaned against his lips, and they parted. Tom placed a finger at his lips to tell her to be quiet, and Hermione bit her lip as his hand slid up her thigh. She shuddered as he started to rub her clit through her knickers. Hermione rolled her hips against his hand, gripping his shoulders tightly as she began to pant softly. 

"If you ever try to hurt me again," he growled in her ear, biting the lobe. Hermione moaned and felt her climax approaching as she shuddered. "If you ever try to hurt me again, Hermione... I will kill you."

She came. Hard.

*****

That following Friday, Hermione was laying in her bathrobe trying to find the motivation to get dressed to go to Slug Club. Farina was sitting on her bed, reading a book about some strange creature that Hermione had never heard of, when she looked over at her. 

"You should get dressed. Slughorn doesn't like it when people are late to his parties," she mumbled. Hermione got to her feet and styled her hair, favoring soft waves that night instead. 

Her dress for the evening was semi-formal and form-fitting; made out of a dark blue brocade, it complimented her fair skin. It featured a sweetheart neckline that revealed a little more skin than she normally would, but she didn't rightly care. She imagined that the entire Slug Club was male, and she decided to be feminine if she had to deal with a total sausage fest. Every girl in the dormitory stared at her and Hermione was vaguely reminded of the night of the Yule Ball. 

"What?" she questioned as she tugged on her t-strap heels. Farina just smiled at her and that was all Hermione needed to see to know that she would hold her own in her own way at the Slug Club meeting that night. 

Sure enough, when Hermione arrived at Slughorn's office she was greeted by an overwhelming number of young men, the majority of whom belonged to Slytherin. 

Tom was among them, of course, nursing a glass of amber-colored liquid that Hermione imagined was fire-whiskey. Slughorn made his way over to her, already intoxicated, and subtly leered at her. 

"Miss Granger! So pleased you could join us!" he chattered. "Please, please! Take a seat! It's so rare that we have a young lady in our presence; I apologize-"

"I," Hermione felt an arm wrap around her waist, "think I can take care of her, Professor Slughorn." She sighed and smiled slightly at Tom, who led her over to the sofa he had been sitting on. He offered her a drink, which she accepted gladly. She noticed that he had given her a glass of red wine, and not fire-whiskey, which she was slightly annoyed by, but said nothing as she drank.

"Who's speaking tonight?" she whispered to him.

"Some prat from Magical Law Enforcement," Tom rolled his eyes. "I tend not to pay any attention to these things. The only group that ever interests me is the Auror's Office, and that's because they're the only ones who can do magic reasonably well. The rest of these fools... they could work a muggle desk job just as well." She felt slightly offended as she had wanted what he considered a pathetic job, but she said nothing. 

Hermione found that Tom had been right, to a point. The speaker that had come was completely boring and monotone. She found herself finishing more wine than she planned on just to get through the presentation and to dinner. 

Finally, the presentation was over and dinner began. Hermione listened intently as the young men went rounds about politics and social issues. Finally, Avery opened his mouth and talked about a subject he truly had no right to speak on, and Hermione wasn't sure if it was the wine talking or her typical frustration toward bigots, but she was enraged immediately.

"And what about the young witches who have taken it upon themselves to start taking contraception charms?" he asked. "Disgusting, I think. Especially the pureblood ones. They think they're too good to do their duty and bear children these days. It'll lead to us being wiped out boys, I'm telling you. We'll be overrun with mudbloods and half-bloods. But what do you expect? If the muggles are gonna put out without consequences, and we have to do our duty of siring new wizards... well, it makes me sick. We ought to outlaw those contraception charms." He gave Hermione a pointed look and she slammed her fork down onto the table.

"I'll have you know that there's nothing wrong with contraception, Mr. Avery," she said sharply. "In fact, I think it's quite a shame that your mother didn't have any the night you were conceived." Avery's eyes widened and his friends tried to hide their amusement. Slughorn was too drunk to care about their discussion turning sour.

"You little slut!" he accused. "You have no right to speak to me like that! You should be on your knees begging for forgiveness..." he chuckled darkly. "That would be a pretty picture. You on your knees. Don't you think, Tom?" 

Hermione turned and looked at Tom, her arms crossed over her chest. He smirked at her and she knew immediately that he was going to side with his friend.

"Quite," he replied curtly. "Though I doubt it's something you'll ever get to see, Avery." 

"And where do you stand on contraception charms, Tom?" Lestrange chimed in. "Perhaps if you're in bed with Miss Granger here you see how useful they are? Figures an ambitious tramp like her would spread her legs for any reason but the right one." Hermione watched as Tom's grip on his dinner knife tightened. 

"Contraception charms prevent unwanted children, no unwanted children usually guarantee happier marriages," Tom explained stiffly. Hermione felt his hand brush against her knee.

_Still thinking about Abraxas' idea, I see_ , she thought with a slight frown. 

Everyone was quiet all through dessert. 

Hermione was still livid about the disgusting prejudice and misogyny displayed by Tom's sycophants, but part of her was angry at herself. What did she expect? They were privileged, pureblood men in the 1940s. They couldn't care less if their future wives didn't want to have a child or not; they saw it as their duty to their blood-purity cause to procreate. And contraception charms were the enemy. She hoped that Tom really believed what he said, and that he wasn't just trying to get a rise out of Avery or to try and appeal to her even more. She was already frustrated that he had given her an orgasm all those weeks ago in the hospital ward. 

When the dinner was through, Hermione stayed behind to help Slughorn clean up. He was clearly incapacitated and it was the least she could do.

"Isn't it lovely to see a woman in her rightful place?" Avery muttered to the other boys. They all sniggered, save for Tom, who walked over and picked up a plate and helped Hermione clear the table. The rest of the boys left, leaving Tom and Hermione alone. 

"Let me walk you back to your dormitory. I don't trust him not to try something stupid," he murmured to her as he reached over her to pick up a glass. Hermione's heart pounded.

"Alright," she mumbled. 

They left together - much to Professor Slughorn's drunken delight - and made their way toward Ravenclaw common room. Tom was silent, simply studying her as she walked back. Hermione met his gaze and smiled slightly.

"Did you really mean what you meant about contraceptive charms? That was really progressive of you," she said. 

"It depends," he smirked.

"On what?" Hermione asked. Her heart fluttered as he stopped her in the hall, grabbing her hip and backing her up against the wall. 

"If I was with you... hmm. Maybe I wouldn't like them as much," his hand slid over her flat stomach and she scowled, pushing him away. "You're being foolish, Hermione. You know I would protect you!" She was walking too fast to really care what he was saying. Yet again, she'd fallen for an act. 

"Oh, fuck you! I can take care of myself!" she shouted back at him.

He didn't chase after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to drop a comment, share some love, etc!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom starts to put his plan into action. Hermione is not impressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three more bookmarks! Yay! Glad you guys are liking this!  
> So I haven't chosen how many chapters this will be, but it will probably be around 18-20 by the time I figure out what's going to happen in like the last seven chapters lol. But just so you know, that's about how long this is going to be.

It had been weeks since the Slug Club incident and Hermione had not spoken to Tom since. She knew he could be manipulative and possessive, but she had never taken him for a chauvinistic pig who wouldn't let her have power over her own body. But perhaps that was the part she had missed: he wanted to have control. It made her stomach clench.

"Are you going to the Quidditch game today?" Farina asked as she sat down next to Hermione. "It should be a good match; Gryffindor versus Slytherin." Hermione smiled, but also felt rather homesick; some things never changed, it seemed. 

"Yeah, I think I'm going to go. At least for a little bit," she replied. "Farina... does Riddle play Quidditch?" The blonde shook her head and laughed a bit.

"You would think so, wouldn't you? Seeing how he's so popular. But no, he doesn't. Abraxas Malfoy is the Slytherin seeker, though, and he's rather good. It will be an interesting matchup, Abraxas against the Gryffindor seeker; he's a distant cousin of the Potters, I've heard." Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat. Someone of Harry's family, however distant, was not only here, but in Gryffindor AND the Seeker of their Quidditch team? "Hermione, are you alright? You look like you're going to cry..."

"I... I'm wonderful, actually, Farina. I'm going to head up to the common room to get ready for the game, okay?" Hermione rose to her feet and walked out of the great hall. She desperately needed to feel a piece of home. She didn't know how she was going to find one, of course, but she felt like she was going to go mad if she didn't see Harry or Ron. 

The only piece of home that she had with her was her wand and Professor Dumbledore, and the latter was proving to be a source of some comfort. Their Occlumency lessons had been progressing rather well. Hermione was able to block Dumbledore from seeing very simple memories, and he thought that by the end of the year she would be ready to face Riddle if he ever tried to get inside her head again. Of course, she and Riddle would have to cross paths at some point for her to even try her new skills as a budding Occlumens, but since he seemed to be avoiding her it looked like she wouldn't be able to try. In fact, the only trace of Riddle she saw was in the injuries Avery and Lestrange had been sporting as of late; Avery had a nasty limp, and Lestrange had a black eye. Hermione would have been amused if she hadn't known that their own leader had inflicted such wounds on them. 

As if merely thinking of him could summon him, Riddle appeared on the top of the stairs. He looked disheveled and a little frazzled, as if he hadn't slept well or had pulled an all-nighter working on an essay.

"Tom," she greeted passively as she started up the stairs. He looked her up and down, seemingly surprised to see her in weekend clothes. Hermione had ordered a dark brown wool circle skirt and a simple tan turtleneck, along with a few other colder weather essentials just two weeks before. He too was dressed for the autumn weather, with black woolen trousers and a matching sweater. 

"I want... I want to talk to you," he told her hoarsely. The roughness of his voice was a cause for concern; she imagined he wasn't sleeping well, or perhaps he was getting sick.

"Alright. Walk with me to my common room; I was just going to get ready for the Quidditch match," she explained. Tom nodded and simply fell into step beside her, her little brown patent heels clicking on the stone floors as he moved almost silently through the corridor. "So, what do you need to talk to me about, Tom?" She noticed how his shoulders tensed slightly before he turned to look at her.

"You don't call me Tom usually," he stated. "Only... Only that first night, really." Hermione shrugged as they stopped in front of the common room. 

"Fear of a name only increases the fear of the thing itself," she told him as they entered the fairly empty room. "A lot of people tend to think that about your... other name, too. Most people where I'm from are too scared to say it." Tom chuckled slightly at that, but then he stopped. 

"Are you one of those people?"

Hermione turned to look at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "No. I'm not afraid of you, whether you're Tom Riddle or Lord Voldemort. Though, if I'm being honest, I much prefer Tom Riddle to the other alternative." He smiled back, and sat down on the brown leather sofa in front of the fireplace. Hermione joined him, remembering to cross her legs at the ankles like her grandmother once scolded her to do when she was a girl. "I... I do think you're capable of great things, Tom. You're definitely the most gifted wizard I've ever encountered." 

"But you don't approve of me," Tom said. "Hermione, you know I've killed people? That girl, in the bathroom, and my father? And not just my father, but both his parents as well?" 

"It's a well-known fact where I come from," she stated. 

"And you really think I can come back from that?" His eyes were dark and sad, and Hermione was convinced that she was seeing a whole other side of Tom Riddle. A side that hadn't been destroyed or repressed completely yet. 

"Everyone deserves a second chance," she mumbled. She wasn't sure if it was just their proximity to the fireplace, but she felt rather warm all of a sudden. "Even you deserve a second chance, Tom. But only you can change your path; I can't do that for you. I can only tell you... I can only tell you what you do wrong and suggest how to fix it." Hermione felt her breath catch as he scooted closer to her, reaching up to gently run his fingers through her curls. She'd used a smoothing potion on it that morning, as she was starting to do almost every morning, so it was soft to the touch. His hand wrapped around the back of her neck, and Hermione was vaguely aware of just how close their faces were. 

"Are you saying you'll help me?" he murmured, brushing his nose against her cheek. She could feel his eyelashes flutter against her skin; they were unfairly long and Hermione knew plenty of girls that would kill to have his lashes. 

"Hermione, I was just wondering--Oh, I'm sorry," Farina gasped. "I didn't know that I would be interrupting something!"

Hermione instantly pulled away from Tom, her senses coming back to her as she rose to her feet and smoothed her skirt. "You weren't interrupting anything, Farina," she assured. "Tom just had some questions about what we went over in Charms the other day, and I was... filling him in." Tom chuckled and rose to his feet, taking Hermione's hand and placing a soft kiss to her knuckles. 

"I will see you later, Hermione," he said before walking out past Farina.

"Nothing was going to happen," Hermione assured the blonde, but she couldn't even convince herself. Farina shrugged and walked past her, heading toward their dormitory. 

"Very well," she shrugged. "But that goes against everything I saw while crystal-gazing in divination class the other day." Hermione's brows scrunched together and she followed Farina up the stairs into the girl's dormitory. "I saw Tom Riddle becoming Minister for Magic, and you were standing by his side."

"That doesn't mean anything-"

"You looked ready to burst," Farina said. "I mean, like pregnancy burst. Big. Of course, it could mean nothing. But after addressing the wizards gathered to see him, Tom turned back to you and placed his hands on your belly." 

"Farina, you know that divination is a very unreliable form of magic. You could have seen anything in that crystal ball," Hermione dismissed. Though Luna had been very talented in divination; if it was a trait that ran in the Lovegood family... could Farina be right? Hermione couldn't even imagine it; being presumably married to Tom Riddle, and carrying his child? It made her feel sick to her stomach. 

"It would be a pretty baby," Farina remarked. "Powerful, too." 

Hermione rolled her eyes and grabbed the russet red cloak she'd bought and threw it over her shoulders. "Come on, let's get down to the Quidditch pitch before all the good seats are taken."

*****

Farina and Hermione settled on the Gryffindor side of the Quidditch pitch. Hermione felt at home among the sea of red and gold, and cheered her heart out for the Gryffindor team. Farina was quiet throughout most of the game, scanning the opposite side of the pitch. 

"He's not here," she mumbled to Hermione. 

"Who, Farina?" Hermione asked, tearing her attention away from the match. She had always liked going to Quidditch matches to cheer on Harry, but it had never been her favorite thing about school. Now, though, it was a wonderful reminder of home. 

"Tom," Farina replied. "Normally he stands with Lestrange and Avery, but he isn't..." 

"He probably has some things to get done. I wouldn't worry about it," Hermione dismissed. She wasn't really worried about him. In fact, she was proud of him for earlier; he had some signs of remorse for his actions - something that Hermione had never thought Tom would be capable of. "You know what a workaholic he can be." Farina wrinkled her nose at the strange word, but said nothing about it.

After a Gryffindor victory, Hermione and Farina made their way back to the castle among the throng of red and gold that was cheering and celebrating. Hermione was so caught up in the excitement that she didn't notice Lestrange and Avery moving through the crowd, eyes locked on her. She lost Farina in the crowd, but she wasn't worried. Or she wasn't until two strong hands wrapped around both her arms and started dragging her backward against the crowd. 

"Hey!" Hermione shouted, but her protests were lost in the loud crowd. "Let go of me!" 

They carried her out of the castle, heading toward the Forbidden Forest. If Hagrid was around, she would have screamed even louder, but one of the boys put a hex on her so she couldn't. She lost track of how far they went into the forest until they dumped her in a clearing. She glared at Lestrange and Avery, and started to get up, grabbing her wand and attempting to put a hex on one of them. 

"Immobulus!" Avery shouted, and Hermione found herself completely frozen in place. 

"Very good, Avery. Lestrange," a voice chuckled. "I'll take it from here." Hermione watched as Tom entered the clearing; he seemed much more like his old self than he had earlier, and was twisting the Gaunt ring on his finger absentmindedly. He dropped the spell that rendered her unable to speak and grinned slightly. "You may try to scream, but you'll find you're much too far for anyone to hear."

"You... You lied to me," she accused. "Everything you said in the common room earlier... it was all an act!" 

"You truly are the brightest witch of your age, Hermione," Tom purred. "You know, I looked into your little friend's mind earlier. She saw something rather interesting in her divination class. Something that... that I think I would like to make into a reality." Hermione glared at him as he approached her and gently stroked her cheek. "Come now, Hermione. Would it really be that bad?"

"I don't want you to come anywhere near me," she hissed. "And I do not want your Slytherin spawn inside of me! You don't understand anything, do you? I hate it when you're like this. All I can see when you do things like this are the evil red eyes and horrible face from the future. I see the man who spent a rather good part of his adult life trying to kill my best friend, a man who despises people with muggle parents, people like ME, Tom! I would never be able to love you, and I would never, ever marry you. Not if we were the last two people on earth!" And then she realized what would really make him mad. She didn't even care if he killed her at this point. She could never face him if he kept doing such terrible things to her. "Dumbledore was right about you. You're beyond saving. And to think I thought you could become something. Something better than what what you became." 

Tom's face contorted with rage. "You... Don't you dare speak of Dumbledore in my presence. The old fool knows nothing. He'll be the first one I come for when I'm done here," he spat. 

"He'll know," Hermione taunted. "He always knows. And even if you kill me, you won't stop Harry from destroying you. You've lost, Tom. You've lost and you haven't even began." She felt a tear start to roll down her cheek. "And since your stupid book sent me back here with no way to return... maybe I'm better off dead." Tom laughed aloud at her words and Hermione frowned.

"You think in going to kill you?" he asked. "No, my dear. I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to take you to a safe place for you to stay until you've decided that you'd like to be useful to me." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"If that's what you want to wait for, you might as well kill me. I'd be more useful then." 

"As convinced as you are of that, you are mistaken. You're much more useful to me alive. And if you refuse to meet my expectations, there are other ways to extract information from you," he touched her arm and suddenly they apparated to an impressive yet foreboding manor home that Hermione recognized immediately. 

*****

"Thank you so much, Mr and Mrs. Malfoy for taking in my beloved Hermione," Tom purred as he stood in the foyer with Hermione by his side. His arm was wrapped around her waist and she was resisting the urge to pull away from him. Abraxas' parents were fairly old, but seemed nice enough considering they were pureblood fanatics.

"Of course, Tom," Mrs. Malfoy smiled. "It's wonderful to have her here." 

"Indeed," Mr. Malfoy agreed. "And congratulations; an engagement already, Tom? Abraxas best catch up lest he wants to lose his inheritance." His cold grey eyes flitted over Hermione in amusement. "She's beautiful, too. A wonderful arm-piece."

"Especially for a Ministry man," Tom pointed out. The two adults brightened and Mrs. Malfoy even clapped her hands together. "I've decided to take one of the jobs they've offered upon my completion of my courses at Hogwarts." Hermione wanted to call his bluff but she simply smiled and forced herself to blush modestly. "Which reminds me. Mrs. Malfoy, I have a favor to ask of you; Hermione here has little experience in running a household, she was raised in America and you know how backwards they can be with things like that, so if possible could you-"

"I'll have her primped and polished when you return for her," Mrs. Malfoy assured. "Speaking of your return, when are you planning on having the wedding?" 

Tom turned and looked at Hermione, who smiled slightly at him. "When were you thinking, love?" she asked, the words tasting sour in her mouth. "You're the one with the career; surely you will be busy when school's over." Tom raised a brow and chuckled before turning to the Malfoys.

"She's certainly in a hurry," he joked. "Are you saying you would like to marry sooner?"

"Oh! How about winter holiday?" Mrs. Malfoy suggested. "You would make a lovely winter bride, Hermione. And you can just come home with Abraxas over break, Tom, and the wedding can be here." 

Hermione tried to hide her surprise; it was nearly October. That would only give her a couple of months to either try to escape or come to terms with what she was going to be forced to do. She could tell Tom had sensed her alarm and his grin grew wider, and his grip around her waist grew tighter.

"That would be wonderful, Mrs. Malfoy. If it's not too much to ask, of course," he said. "What do you think, Hermione?" 

Hermione genuinely blushed because he had expertly put her on the spot. She looked at Mrs. Malfoy and smiled brightly. "I always did love December," she admitted softly. "But... this is all happening so fast! Are you sure you're going to be happy, Tom? I don't want you to feel like you're trapped..." She could tell Tom had heard the subtle threat in her words, as his eyes flashed slightly in ire. 

"I am... overjoyed," he murmured, running a hand through her hair. "Take good care of her? I can't imagine what I would do if something happened to her." Hermione watched in horror as he leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. 

"Young love," Mrs. Malfoy chuckled. "Let me show you up to your room, dear; you'll find some clothes in the armoire for you. I hope they're all to your liking." Hermione was grateful to get out of the situation and went upstairs with her, examining her room as she tried her hardest not to break down into tears. Not only had he taken her away from her education, but he had taken her to one of the places she'd hoped she would never see again. 

"It... It's lovely. Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy," she said weakly. Hermione sat down on the bed and smoothed the frilly white comforter. 

"Of course," the older woman smiled. "We take care of our own here at Malfoy Manor. Supper will be at six-thirty in the dining room." Hermione nodded to her and got to her feet and began to pace as soon as she closed the door. There had to be a way out of the Manor. But even if she could get out of the house, there had to be wards in place on the grounds that would alert the Malfoys of her departure. 

She was effectively trapped. Tom had won. In two months' time she would be his wife, and since Hermione was aware that divorce was rare, if not practically unheard of, in the 1940s... she would be stuck with him.

She would have to sleep with him. 

Hermione shuddered at the thought. She did not want the Dark Lord sharing a bed with her, let alone... touching her in that way. Not that she hadn't already, but still. And she especially did not want to have his child, which was yet another thing that would be expected of her as a wife. At that thought, Hermione flopped down in a rather unladylike manner onto the bed, sniffling. Dumbledore had been right about Tom, but he also had been right about her. She couldn't change Tom Riddle. 

She must have drifted off to sleep at some point, because she was awoken suddenly by a knocking on her door. Hermione got up and smoothed her hair and skirt before answering the door. A rather cross house-elf was waiting for her.

"Master and Mistress are expecting you at supper," it grumbled. Hermione thanked the elf, which apparently surprised it as it followed her without a word. 

The dining room was large and cold, and the Malfoys sat at the far end of the table. They had started with the first course of the meal when they looked up. "Oh, Hermione," Mrs. Malfoy greeted. "Please, come join us. We've just started." Hermione made her way down to where they were, her heels clacking on the marble floors. She sat down as gracefully as she could, and placed her napkin on her lap before picking up her soup spoon and tasting the swirling orange liquid in her bowl. 

"Pumpkin soup," she recognized. "It's delicious." Mrs. Malfoy smiled at her and put down her own spoon and leaned closer to Hermione.

"I was thinking that we would go to Diagon Alley tomorrow and start looking for a dress for you," she told her. "And we best pick out invitations, too. There's barely three months until the wedding, so we best get them out as soon as possible. Perhaps we should go to one of the bakeries too, and try some cake. I know it's usually done with the husband present, but since Tom needs to finish school, well, it will be up to us ladies for once." Hermione smiled; Mrs. Malfoy seemed like a genuinely good woman. 

After four courses of dinner, Hermione was extremely full and more than happy to go up to bed. She opened the armoire and found a rather large collection of... white. White knickers, white brassieres, white slips, and white nightgowns. She grabbed a heavier looking nightgown and slipped it on. She found it somewhat ironic; the last time she was at Malfoy Manor, she had not been treated with such kindness. Instead, her arm had been carved up by a madwoman and she'd been tortured by means of the Cruciatus curse.

"All because of him and his cause," she muttered to herself. "My life is ruined..." she clutched the pillows and tried to fall asleep. 

*****

Back at Hogwarts, Farina was sitting in the common room with a few other members of Ravenclaw. She realized that something was off, and looked around the room before figuring out what was wrong. 

"Has anyone seen Hermione since this morning?" she asked, having not seen her since the Quidditch match. Everyone else looked around, but one of the boys rolled his eyes.

"She's probably off in the library. Don't worry, she'll turn up," he assured. Farina would have felt secure in that thought, but she realized that she hadn't seen Hermione at supper either. She got up from the sofa and began to hurry down to the transfiguration classroom. She knew Hermione was close with Professor Dumbledore; perhaps he would have an idea of where she was.

When she got there though, she was extremely disappointed and more worried. "I'm sorry, Miss Lovegood, but I'm afraid I have not seen Miss Granger since this past evening. Did she leave any word as to where she would be?" Dumbledore inquired. 

"No," Farina mumbled. "Professor, I'm worried that something bad has happened to her. You know, she was with Tom Riddle this morning-"

"Riddle?" Dumbledore rose quickly from his seat behind his desk. 

"Yes," Farina said. "They were... I think they were about to kiss. I came in and accidentally interrupted them. Have you seen Tom? Perhaps he knows where Hermione is." She was surprised at how Dumbledore seemed panicked. He exited the classroom, hurrying for the Slytherin common room. He managed to enter it, and stood in the middle of the room. 

"TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE!" His voice was amplified by the Sonorous charm and the walls of the room rattled. Slytherin students started to wander out into the common room, wondering why Dumbledore was in their part of the castle. 

"Yes, Professor?" Tom exited the seventh year boys' dormitory, his pajamas on and bathrobe drawn around himself. "It's rather late, you know."

"If I may speak to you in private?" Dumbledore said as he lightly grabbed his arm and led him out into the hall. "What did you do to Miss Granger? She has not been seen since the Quidditch match, and you are the last person her friend remembers seeing her with. Therefore, that makes you a suspect in her disappearance."

"Hermione is missing?" Tom asked in rather fake surprise. "That... That's awful. Professor, I swear to you I have not been in contact with her since this morning. And if there's anything I can do to help, please don't hesitate to tell me." 

When Tom returned to the common room, Avery, Lestrange, and Malfoy were waiting for him.

"Is he suspicious?" Abraxas inquired.

"Of course," Tom scoffed. "But it will be a while until he figures it out. By then... Hermione Granger will be Mrs. Tom Riddle."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah.
> 
> Don't forget to drop a comment or leave some kudos!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione spends her first day with Abraxas' parents. Well, mainly his mother.   
> Tom starts to consider how to play his cards right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is basically a bunch of filler, and Hermione getting swept up in the charming woman I made Abraxas' mother turn out to be. I decided there had to be someone nice in Malfoy Manor at some period of time!

"Rise and shine, Miss Granger." Hermione was greeted by none other than Mrs. Malfoy. "I see you found one of the nightgowns to your liking. I've had the elves draw you a bath; best hurry up before it gets cold!" She appreciated her motherly nature, and climbed out of bed, slipping on the fluffy white slippers that sat at the foot of her bed. 

The bathroom was ridiculously large, and the centerpiece was a black claw-foot tub that was filled with bubbles. Hermione undressed and stepped into the tub, sighing at the warmth of the water. She charmed the brush to help her wash up as quickly as possible. Hermione actually found herself humming to herself as she soaked, and even bothered to use a smoothing potion on her hair when she got out. Before heading back to her room, she wrapped herself up in a big fluffy bathrobe and put her slippers back on. As she left, two house-elves skittered in to clean up after her. Hermione felt guilty, but she knew if she was too kind to them the Malfoys could become upset, or worse, tell Tom. 

Opening the armoire once more, she sifted through the sweaters and skirts and dresses she could choose from, deciding on an emerald green sweater and black wool skirt. Hermione struggled with her undergarments, which for the first time included a real girdle, garter belt, and seamed black stockings, but when she saw her reflection in the full-length mirror she was amazed at how... proper she looked. 

"Well... interesting," she turned slightly to try and see what she looked like from the back. A house-elf knocked on the door and she admitted them. 

"Miss Granger, Mistress is ready to leave," it informed her. Hermione thanked the elf and moved past it, standing at the top of the stairs and gripping the railing tightly. If she let her mind drift, she could hear her own screams echoing through the halls of the home. 

"Oh, you are striking, my dear," Mrs. Malfoy smiled. "Tom is very lucky to have you. Shall we?" 

"Why, yes, of course," Hermione returned her grin. She was ready to try and act like she belonged among the ridiculous society that the Malfoys belonged to, and that Tom desperately wanted to join. 

Mrs. Malfoy apparated the both of them into the middle of Diagon Alley. It was just as busy as Hermione remembered, and she was pleased to see some familiar shops that existed in her time as well. Of course, she wouldn't be frequenting the book shops and other places she loved; instead, she was dragged into a boutique that sold clothes for witches. 

"Serena!" Mrs. Malfoy cried into the shop. Hermione wandered off toward the gowns that were on display, touching the fabric. One gown in particular caught her eye; it was ivory, and it shimmered when it caught the light. 

"Helene!" An older woman came out from the back of the shop. "What can I do for you?" Hermione turned to look at the woman who owned the shop and smiled; she was around Mrs. Malfoy's age, and was impeccably dressed in a bright pink that seemed to change patterns as she walked. Her hair was also neatly coiffed, and Hermione could see how she and Mrs. Malfoy were acquaintances. "Ah, is this the bride-to-be? I saw the announcement in the Daily Prophet; you and Mr. Riddle will make a handsome couple." 

Hermione nearly fell over. There had been an engagement announcement in the paper? All of Hogwarts would know by now! But then she realized that it might not be a bad thing. Not only would Farina see, but so would most of the professors, including Dumbledore, and they would have confirmation of who had taken her. 

"Pardon her, I fear she's a little shy," Mrs. Malfoy stated. "We've come because she needs to pick out her wedding gown." Serena nodded and walked over to where Hermione was standing.

"Do you like that gown? You seem better suited for ivory than white, I'd say," Serena said. "But this isn't very young-looking, is it? Let's see it on and I can make some alterations to it. Necklines are my specialty." Hermione nodded and was ushered back to a dressing room with the dress. She slipped it on; it was a bit big in the waist, and too tight in her hips, but it was a pretty color on her. "Ah yes, there needs to be some alterations." Serena waved her wand, and the dress fit her perfectly all of a sudden. 

"What do you think, dear?" Mrs. Malfoy asked. Hermione looked at herself in the mirror and frowned. She didn't like how heavy the sleeves were, and she had always wanted a keyhole back. 

"Could the sleeves be sheer, and could the back be... like... keyhole?" Hermione inquired. Serena nodded and waved her wand. The sheer sleeves were fitted at her wrists with little pearl buttons, and her back was now exposed thanks to the keyhole style. "Much better." Part of Hermione was suspicious that Mrs. Malfoy would likely be in contact with Tom, so she put on her most innocent look and turned to her. "Mrs. Malfoy, do you think Tom would like it?"

Mrs. Malfoy beamed at her. "I think he would be quite pleased. You look lovely, Hermione. Can we see her with a veil?" she inquired. Serena brought out an ivory birdcage veil, and stuck it in Hermione's hair. 

"Perfect!" Serena cheered. "Is this the gown?" Hermione looked to Mrs. Malfoy for her approval, and she nodded. 

Hermione went back to the dressing room and changed back into her sweater and skirt, carrying the dress and veil back out. Serena wrapped them up in a beautiful box and Hermione carried them out with her back onto the street. Her gaze wandered to the bookstore and Mrs. Malfoy chuckled. "Tom and Abraxas both have informed us that you're a bookworm," she said. "Go on; I'll go take care of the invitations, and then we can meet up to go try some cake."

Hermione thanked her and hurried over to the shop, pushing open the door and feeling free for the first time in almost twenty-four hours.

*****

31 May, 1998

"We're never going to find her," Ron groaned to Harry as they continued to go through reports and anonymous tips that had come into the Ministry since Hermione's disappearance. "She's gone! One of those bloody Death Eaters probably stole her away and ate her..."

"Don't be stupid, Ron," Harry rolled his eyes. "She's out there... somewhere." He opened an envelope and much to his surprise an old newspaper clipping fluttered out. "This is odd; it's from Malfoy. He says he found it in his grandfather's collection of artifacts from before the first war." Ron peered over his shoulder as Harry flipped the piece of paper over. On one side, there was an advertisement for enchanted teapots, and on the reverse... "It's an engagement announcement."

"Why would Malfoy send us a bloody engagement announcement from before any of us were born? That's not going to help us-"

"Ron, look," Harry shoved the paper into his face. "It's Hermione. And... And look who she's engaged to." Ron snatched the piece of paper from his hands and held the photo close to his face. Harry began to read Malfoy's note, his brows furrowing.

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed. "That... That's Hermione! And look at her hair! And her clothes!" 

"Look at who she's getting engaged to, Ron," Harry sighed. He knew that Hermione's disappearance had been traumatic for him - it had been traumatic for all of them - but he needed Ron to focus and look at the big picture. 

"Handsome bloke. Though wouldn't have thought Hermione would be the type... wait. Harry, this bloke's name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. That... Harry, please tell me that's not the Tom Riddle we know." When Harry didn't respond, Ron cursed. "She's back in time! How are we going to get her back! She can't marry Lord fucking Voldemort!" He snatched the note from Malfoy from Harry's hand and began to read it. "'Potter, found this in my grandfather's things. I think we know what happened to Granger. Don't know how you're going to get to her, but she's back in 1944. Seems like Lord Voldemort is trying to change the past. Good luck.' What an insufferable git!"

"We should talk to Professor McGonagall," Harry told him. "She was the one who got Hermione a time-turner back in the day. Maybe she can get us one that will take us back to 1944."

"The only time-turners that existed only went back five hours," Kingsley Shacklebolt stated as he approached them. "And they all were destroyed during the battle in the Department of Mysteries. Have you received an important tip as to where we might find Miss Granger?" Ron nodded and shoved the clipping in his hands.

"Yeah, 1944!" he cried. Shacklebolt frowned and looked at the picture for a long time.

"This is not good. Do you two have any idea how she could have been sent back in time?" he inquired. Both Ron and Harry shook their heads. They had no clue whatsoever. "Well. We both know the serious implications of this engagement. If Lord Voldemort has Hermione's vast knowledge of the future, there's no stopping him from succeeding in his goals." Harry frowned at that; surely Shacklebolt didn't think that Hermione would tell Riddle about the future?

"But Minister, do you really think that Hermione would tell him? About the future, that is?" he inquired. 

"I can't be sure," Shacklebolt sighed. "But even if she doesn't tell him personally, Lord Voldemort was a master Legilimens. Not to mention a master manipulator. I... I'm afraid that unless someone creates a stable time-turner that can go further back than five hours... Hermione will be stuck in the past and be forced to go through with marrying Tom Riddle." Ron and Harry both stood there, staring at the piles of reports and tips. They exchanged glances and they knew who they had to go visit. 

"Well, thank you, Minister," they both stated. 

"Do we really have to go see that sniveling twat?" Ron sighed. Harry hesitated, but nodded. "Fine. Let's make this quick." They apparated to Malfoy Manor, setting off the wards. The alarms were turned off as soon as they went off, however, and they were greeted by a familiar face. 

"Hello, Potter. Weasley. I imagine you got my note?" Draco raised a well-groomed eyebrow. 

"Yes, we did, Malfoy, and we want to know how we can get Hermione back," Ron snarled. The icy blonde laughed and crossed his arms over his chest. "We're serious. We want her back and we are willing to do anything-"

"Malfoy, did your grandfather leave any diaries behind by chance?" Harry inquired. "If he has one from the 1944-1945 school year, we can probably track what's going on with Riddle and Hermione while we try and figure out how she got back there and how we can go get her." Malfoy nodded, and motioned for them to follow them.

"He has quite a few, actually, from all his school years and even a few years afterward," he said. "And... I want to help you get her back. I might not like Granger, but... she shouldn't have to deal with fucking Voldemort for the rest of her life. Even she isn't annoying enough to deserve a lifetime of him." Harry was fairly certain that Malfoy was being sincere; after all, he had spent a fair amount of time with Lord Voldemort before the final battle. 

They entered Malfoy Manor and mounted the stairs. Harry felt his stomach clench about being back in the horrid place, but he tried to push it aside for Hermione's sake. 

The study was on the second floor. It was much more bare than Harry imagined it would be, but as soon as the Battle of Hogwarts was over the Malfoy family had been targeted by a handful of Ministry raids that led to most of Lucius Malfoy's belongings being confiscated. Draco walked over to the furthest shelf, and plucked a green leather book off of it. "This is his diary from his seventh year at Hogwarts," he said as he handed it to Harry. "I haven't looked through it yet."

They all sat down together on a black leather sofa as Harry opened the book and began to flip through the pages. "Oh! Here's a mention of Hermione. 'The new Ravenclaw girl seems to have Tom all in a fit; she's smart, but her hair is awful. I don't understand why he's letting her get to him, but I imagine he knows more about her than us. That's usually the case.' It's dated toward the beginning of the school year." 

"Is there more?" Ron scooted closer to try and read over Harry's shoulder. 

Harry nodded. "Oh, that's odd," he mumbled. "Here's an entry from toward the end of the month. 'When I came back from the Quidditch match, Avery and Lestrange were waiting for me. They told me that Riddle had secured Granger and took her to my home. My parents have been generous enough to host her until the marriage can take place. And to think none of this would have happened if Tom hadn't read the Lovegood girl's mind and had seen himself becoming Minister for Magic! Hopefully-"

"That's what he's planning," Ron deadpanned. "He's trying to control his future so he can become Minister for Magic and Hermione is going to be his wife."

"But why would he need Hermione to become Minister?" Draco questioned. "It doesn't make any sense. What use is she to him other than maybe a companion? And Lord Voldemort has never had need for a companion; only cronies and sycophants. None of it adds up." They all sat around and thought about reasons that Voldemort would need a girl. The whole entire concept was difficult to wrap their heads around, so they sat in heavy silence for what felt like an eternity.

"Wait. We're trying too hard to think in a modern mindset," Harry said as he got to his feet. "Why would a young man in 1944 with political aspirations get married to a pretty young woman?"

"His image?" Draco guessed. Harry nodded.

"That's part of it. But what else might he want?" He looked at Ron with his eyebrows raised. 

"Well, I suppose if I was like Voldemort, and I was obsessed with my immortality and power... I might want another Tom or two to keep the family line going," Ron suggested before he wrinkled his nose. "Yuck. Poor Hermione." 

"Do you really think Granger would give it up to the Dark Lord?" Malfoy asked, his face scrunched in confusion and disgust. "I mean, this is Granger we're talking about. She's the most stubborn girl any of us have ever met; Merlin knows how difficult she's probably been for Riddle. I doubt he'll even make it into her bed let alone get between her legs. And even if he does, I'm sure Hermione knows all the contraception charms." Ron seemed to be relieved at the thought, but Harry didn't buy it.

"Draco, you know he's a Legilimens, though," he reminded. "Even when he was young, he was already quite skilled at it. If he grows suspicious, there's no stopping him from finding out about those charms, and, well, it probably won't end up well for Hermione."

"So we're supposed to just sit here as Voldemort marries and knocks up our Hermione back in 1944, and we're going to have to read about it secondhand through your grandfather's diary?" Ron huffed. "I don't want to know about their sex lives! Just thinking about Lord Voldemort trying to... Merlin's beard I can't even say it!" Harry sighed and looked at Malfoy.

"Draco, your father didn't know anyone working on time-turners, did he?" he asked. 

"I think he might have known someone, but I'm not sure if they were ever successful. The last test the man did, he could only go back in time for five minutes before being sent back. And I'm fairly sure the time-turner was confiscated and destroyed by the Ministry," he explained. 

"So she's stuck there," Harry confirmed.

"I'm afraid so."

Ron groaned and paced the length of the study, running his hands through his hair. Harry and Draco watched him for a few moments before Harry turned his attention back to the diary. He wondered what would happen to all of them if Riddle changed his plans and became Minister for Magic; Malfoy and Ron would probably still exist, but would Harry? Everyone knew that Riddle hated muggle-borns, and Harry's mother was one. Would he even be born?

"How should we handle checking on the diary?" he asked Draco. 

"You're welcome to stay here. We can work together as we track what's going on, and maybe we can try to figure out how to go back and get Hermione."

*****

29 September, 1944

"Mm, I love the Devil's Food," Hermione hummed. She and Mrs. Malfoy were sitting in a small bakery on Diagon Alley. "What do you think of the carrot cake?" Mrs. Malfoy wrinkled her nose and set down the small sample plate. 

"Not fit for a wedding," she stated. "Let me try the Devil's Food, dear." Hermione passed her the plate and watched as she tasted it. Her eyes lit up and she nodded. "Very good." She looked back toward the baker and the man, who reminded Hermione of Professor Flitwick, scurried out from behind the counter. "We think the Devil's Food cake is what we want for the wedding. Can you show us options for how it can be decorated?" 

"Of course, Mrs. Malfoy," he stated as he procured a book that, when opened to a certain page, would display a three-dimensional version of the decorated cake. 

Hermione flipped through the book absentmindedly, not really impressed with any decoration until she came across a three layer cake with red roses. The roses were enchanted, and would open up and release little hearts into the air when the cake was cut. She found it to be a little too... girly... but she thought about the look on Tom's face when they cut the cake together and she smirked. 

"Have you found something, my dear?" Mrs. Malfoy asked, glancing at the cake. "Oh, that is beautiful. And it will look lovely in the social columns of the Prophet. Did you know they're already calling this the "Wedding of the Century?" Well, it's not surprising, considering Tom's potential. Many people believe he has the potential to become the youngest Minister for Magic Great Britain has ever seen." 

Hermione gulped. She wasn't sure how she felt about being treated to an old-fashioned socialite's wedding, especially since her parents wouldn't be there to see her off. 

With the cake ordered and the invitations already on their way, the two apparated back to Malfoy Manor with the receipt for the cake and Hermione's gown in tow. Mr. Malfoy wasn't waiting for them when they arrived, which didn't faze Mrs. Malfoy nor Hermione. 

"Oh, Peekey, come take Miss Hermione's dress and hang it up," Mrs. Malfoy ordered as one of the house-elves passed. "And make sure to put it somewhere where it won't get ruined; it must be perfect." The house-elf nodded and took the box from Hermione. "Peekey is my personal house-elf. Though I know you'll need good help when you and Tom head to London, so I've been considering giving her to you as a wedding gift." Hermione blushed and shifted slightly on her feet.

"That's quite alright, Mrs. Malfoy. It takes much less effort to run a London townhouse, and I've been reading up on housekeeping charms," she assured. 

"Nonsense. A genteel-bred young lady such as yourself should not waste your energy on such things. And since your husband will have a comfortable job, it's your responsibility to host his friends and coworkers, and to be something sweet and soft to come home to when he's done at work," she told her. "Therefore at least one house-elf will be useful so you're not up to your neck casting charms." Hermione managed a smile for her. 

"I will consider it," she said. "But I must take a quick nap; I'm afraid all the excitement from the day has worn me out. I don't want to be exhausted and unpleasant at supper." Mrs. Malfoy nodded and dismissed her. 

When Hermione reached her bedroom, she sat down and started to write a letter to Tom. She decided she needed to give him a piece of her mind - but in the subtlest way.

_Dearest Tom,_

_It is so lonely here without you. I find that Mrs. Malfoy is genteel, sincere company, but I fear my mind is in need of the delightful stimulation that only you can provide._

_Mrs. Malfoy and I visited Diagon Alley to begin planning the wedding; Lestrange and Avery should be receiving invitations. Mind, I don't know what they look like since I left their selection up to Mrs. Malfoy. We also picked the cake - three tiers of Devil's Food cake with white frosting and enchanted red roses - and my dress. Of course, I cannot tell you what the dress looks like; it's supposedly bad luck!_

_It seems strange to think that barely a month ago we were newly acquainted. It has been such a whirlwind courtship that I can hardly see straight. Though I know we will make each other very happy indeed._

_There are a few things I believe we ought to discuss before we exchange nuptials, however:_

_First, how many children would you like to have? (I know you'll find this trivial, but it's an important thing to think about before we are man and wife.)_

_Second, what part of London would you like to live in? I would prefer a nicer part of wizarding London; the equivalent of Mayfair, if possible. Though I don't know what the Ministry expects of you as far as housing goes._

_Lastly, do you want flowers at the wedding? I like red roses, to match the cake._

_Yours,  
Hermione_

She made her way downstairs and found Peekey. "Excuse me, Peekey?" she said softly.

"Yes, Miss Hermione?" the house-elf turned and stood, waiting for an order. Hermione offered her the note. "You'd like me to take this to Mr. Riddle, Miss Hermione?"

"Yes I would, Peekey," she smiled. "Can you take it directly to him? I don't want to waste time with owls and such." The elf nodded and disappeared with a snap of her fingers, and Hermione returned to her bedroom to wait. She hoped she hadn't been too forward by writing to him, but she imagined Tom would be extremely amused by the nature of her letter. 

"If he wants the perfect little wife," Hermione grumbled as she ran a brush through her hair, "then that is what he'll get. I hope he likes it." 

Come suppertime, there was no sign of Peekey, but neither of the Malfoys seemed concerned so Hermione didn't act concerned either. Instead, she made dull small talk with Mrs. Malfoy and pretended to be interested in the few things that Mr. Malfoy brought up throughout the meal. 

Hermione was relieved when the meal came to an end, and made her way up to her room. She opened the door and moved to her armoire, pulling out a shorter, white nightgown that Hermione imagined had been selected for her honeymoon phase. She slowly unzipped her skirt, letting it pool at her feet before taking off her sweater. After undressing, she caught a glimpse of her reflection and turned toward the mirror. She touched the fine lace of her brassiere, and traced the definition of her waist courtesy of the girdle. It frightened her how unrecognizable she had become. 

A rustling came from the curtains and Hermione's head snapped over in that direction. She hoped it was Peekey with a response from Tom, but she was horrified when instead of a note from Tom she found that the man himself had been hiding in her curtains.

"Miss me, darling?" he asked. Hermione quickly tried to cover herself with her nightgown. Tom smirked and walked closer to her. "Don't cover up on my account; after all, we're just months away from being man and wife. Now, about your questions..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe. Minor cliffhanger there! Tom's always popping up at the most inconvenient times... well, inconvenient for Hermione. I'm sure he isn't complaining about popping in.  
> Don't forget to leave a comment/kudos!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Hermione review the details of their arrangement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: smut ahead! Enjoy. ;)

Hermione started to put on her nightgown as Tom moved to sit down on her bed. He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "No, no," he said. "Don't put that on." Hermione paused and looked at him like he was crazy. "I'm not going to hurt you, Hermione. I simply want to answer your questions." She huffed softly and removed the nightgown, placing it on top of her vanity before moving to sit next to him. Tom's lips twitched into a small grin and he pulled her onto his lap. "Alright, dear, you have questions, and I, of course, have answers for you." His arms wrapped round her waist and Hermione gasped. 

"And?" she raised a brow. He chuckled and gently kissed her cheek. 

"Your first question was about children, was it not?" he murmured. Hermione squirmed slightly as his hands slipped down her back to gently cup her ass. "Well, I've never been one for other people's children, but... I think I could tolerate one or two of my own. Is that satisfying for you?" Hermione nodded. "Then, where we're going to live... well, darling, it all depends. The Malfoys have invited all of wizarding high society to our wedding, which means that the wedding purse will be quite impressive. I'm sure we can manage to pay the rent for a nice flat or even a townhouse with that until I start getting paid." His lips brushed against her neck and Hermione shivered. "And... red roses are wonderful for the wedding, my dear." His voice was barely a whisper, but it made Hermione's heart flutter furiously. 

"Then I suppose you're going to go back to school now?" she asked hopefully. Tom shook his head and gently squeezed her bum. "Now would you really want to ravish your fiancée before the wedding?"

"You act like I'm one to follow the rules," he smirked. "Surely you understand by now, Hermione, that I don't like to be controlled? And it's not like people aren't having premarital sex." His eyes left hers for a moment and flitted over her body. She was still in her underclothes, having not taken them off since he'd stopped her from putting on her nightgown. "You look... perfect. Just perfect. And I appreciate perfection, Hermione. In fact, I will expect nothing less from you." He pressed his lips to her collarbone, his tongue peeking out and brushing over the soft skin. Hermione's breath hitched and her fingers instinctively tangled in his hair. 

It felt wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. It was wrong that his lips on her skin gave her goosebumps, it was wrong that she simply moaned when his hand slipped down her knickers, and it was extremely wrong that she willingly removed her brassiere for him. When his thumbs gently rubbed her nipples, she blushed when they pebbled quickly under his touch. The hooks of her girdle proved difficult for him and a giggle escaped her lips.

"Here, let me," she murmured as she rose to her feet and unhooked the restrictive garment. Her nose scrunched as she looked at him and frowned. He was fully clothed. "I'm afraid you're at a distinct advantage, Mr. Riddle." 

Hermione picked up her wand from her vanity and flicked it in his direction, watching with an amused smirk as he was slowly undressed, his clothes folding themselves neatly on her bedside table. When she had gotten him down to his underwear, she stopped and climbed back on top of him, resting her hands on his chest. His skin was smooth and soft, but she could feel his muscles tense slightly under her touch. "There," she whispered. "Now we're equal." He frowned slightly at her words, but he didn't say anything. Instead, his lips pressed against hers, and he didn't hesitate to deepen the kiss. Hermione moaned as she felt his tongue roam the inside of her mouth while his hands slipped inside her knickers. 

"Mm," he hummed as he pulled back then worked his way down her neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. Hermione was certain he would leave a mark or two, but she didn't rightly care at the moment. "So wet, Hermione..." She arched into his touch, gasping when his thumb started to rub her clit. She rolled her hips against his hand, and she started to moan softly. 

"Tom..." she panted, her grip on his hair tightening as she felt her stomach start to clench. "Oh... Tom..." She was close, and Hermione wanted to come at least once before he took her. 

He obliged her and brought her to climax, holding her steady as she trembled slightly from her release. She was surprised at how gentle he was with her, but it was obvious that there was nothing romantic about his tenderness; it was all an attempt to make her feel more comfortable with him and to trust him. It became more obvious as he helped her settle on the bed, her head on the fluffy pillows. Their gazes met as he gently kissed down her body, settling just above her belly button before slowly tugging her knickers off. Hermione watched as he looked at her, finally bared, and hoped that he wasn't disappointed. 

If he was, he didn't show any signs of it, slowly lowering himself so he was level with her sex. She sighed as his tongue darted out and cautiously licked her. Hermione's eyes widened in surprise, and she propped herself up on her elbows as she watched him focus in on her swollen bud. Her back arched as he swirled his tongue around it before taking it into his mouth and sucking on it slowly. Tom found her slack-jawed, hazy-eyed expression encouraging, so he slid two fingers inside her, slowly pumping them in and out. Before he had decided to see Hermione, Lestrange, Avery, and Abraxas had shared their collective sexual knowledge about the female anatomy with him, and Tom had found that, thus far, their information had not disappointed him. 

Hermione could tell that he was a little tentative to do some of the things he was doing - it was obvious by the tension in his shoulders - so she decided to give him a little encouragement. "Tom... r-right there... oh... curl your... fingers a little," she whimpered. He did as she told and he was rewarded with a rather loud cry from her lips. 

Once she was satisfied, Tom decided that it was time. 

He slowly removed his underwear, watching Hermione's face to see her reaction as his cock sprang free. Her eyelashes fluttered and he wondered if she was surprised, and then he found himself wondering if it was a good sort of surprise or if she was disappointed.

In reality, Hermione was trying not to gape. And being painfully aroused and recognizing that terrible empty feeling in her gut made her more than willing to take him. She met his gaze and grinned kissing him hard on the lips, while reaching down to wrap her hand around his length. She thought for a moment about a conversation in the Gryffindor girls' dormitory that, at the time, Hermione had found rather crude and disgusting, but she now understood. 

The gist of the conversation had been Lavender Brown was asking the girls about what they would want their future husbands' cocks to look like, feel like, and whatnot. One of the girls - Hermione couldn't remember who - had said that she wanted her husband to be hung like a centaur. Hermione could recall being utterly disgusted, and even Lavender had been disappointed in the girl's words.

"No, no, no," Lavender had said. "That's the cock you mess around with when you're young and dumb. For a husband... well, I always think you want that nice seven inches you can take home to mum and dad."

Hermione wished Lavender was alive so she could tell her that she had found the seven inches she had described. She ran her hand up and down Tom's length, watching his face relax slightly as she did so. It made her feel good to know that her touch could affect him the way his affected her.

"I want to be inside you," he sighed. Hermione froze. She had been so caught up in her own pleasure that she hadn't really thought about where they were going to... take things. Tom looked down at her and frowned. He dipped down and nuzzled her neck with his nose. "Hermione... yes or no." His hand trailed down between her thighs and he stroked her lazily, making her mind go fuzzy. 

"Y... Yes," she managed. Her eyes fixed on the space between them, watching as Tom pulled her closer with one hand while he gripped his length with the other. To try and help him, Hermione spread her legs further and bent them at the knee. She watched as he slowly penetrated her, whimpering slightly as she felt herself stretch to accommodate him. "O-Oh..." She didn't feel the discomfort her mother had once warned her of, and Hermione was somewhat amused. In fact, she felt... good. They fit together almost perfectly. Her eyes locked with his and he seemed to be looking for her permission to move. "Go ahead." Tom nodded and slowly pulled almost all the way out of her before easing himself back into her. 

After a few tentative thrusts, everything was a blur. Hermione's legs were wrapped around his hips and he nipped at her neck and her breasts and her shoulder. She wasn't sure how loud she was being but she was fairly certain that the entire household could hear her, and she didn't rightly care. 

"Hermione..." Tom grunted, snapping his hips forward. "Are you close?" She nodded, a whimper escaping her lips after a particularly rough thrust. "Good... I... oh... come with me, Hermione..." her hand dropped down to her clit and she began to rub furiously as Tom lost control. 

They cried out, Hermione arching up off the bed, not even reacting as she felt Tom spill inside her. 

They lingered there for a few moments; she watched his chest rise and fall above her, and placed her hand over his beating heart. Part of her couldn't believe what she had just done, but another part of her wanted to do it again, and again, and again. The... The chemistry was undeniable now. She sighed softly as Tom pulled out of her and curled up next to her in bed, wrapping an arm around her. Hermione shifted slightly to face him and he glanced at the sheets.

"We've made a mess," he chuckled. "But... Hermione... why didn't you... bleed?" He sat up and scowled slightly. "Were you not a virgin?" The word rattled her brain; she knew it was the 1940s but it still bugged her.

"The concept of virginity is a social construct forced upon women to keep them obedient to their fathers and later their husbands, and places their value on their lack of freedom of choice and experimentation. It is wholly unfair, and is only in place to oppress women. Also, if a woman bleeds while having sex, something is definitely wrong," she told him. "But... to answer your question... I had never slept with a man until tonight. Does that satisfy you?" Tom seemed to analyze her expression for a moment, and, seeing that she was telling the truth, nodded. "Now come sleep. I suppose you're spending the night." He laid back down beside her and pulled her close. Hermione hummed softly when he began to play with a strand of her hair.

"So can I really not see the dress before the big day?" he asked. 

"If I'm being forced into this, then we are doing everything by the books, Tom Riddle," she replied. "Well... almost everything." Tom cupped her face in his hands and forced her to look him in the eye.

"I'm only forcing you because it's for both our benefits," he reminded. "And... now I don't think I would be able to go a day without having you in my bed." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Nice to know that's all I'm good for," she remarked. 

"You know I'm exaggerating," he scoffed, pulling her closer and squeezing her. "Well, only slightly." 

*****

The sun shone brightly through the windows the next morning and Hermione smiled sleepily when the events of the night before came rushing back to her. She started to get up, glancing at Tom, who was still asleep, as she ran a brush through her hair to try and tame it a little. He stirred moments later, sitting up, the bedsheets falling at his hips. Hermione looked at him through her mirror and tried her best not to smirk at his terrible bedhead. 

"Good morning," she said. "You best get going; Mrs. Malfoy usually comes to greet me in the morning and we don't want to know what she'd do if she found the bridegroom-to-be in the bride-to-be's bed months before the wedding." Tom laughed and grabbed his underwear from the floor, tugging them on as he went to wrap his arms around her waist. 

"I would just have to Obliviate her," he murmured before kissing her neck. She could see him admiring his handiwork in the mirror; her neck was peppered with little bruises and bite marks.

"Would you really do that to our generous host?" she teased. Tom spun her around and sat her on the vanity, running a hand through her hair. "It would be quite terrible for appearances if you were seen in bed with your fiancée. I don't know if your future career could handle such scandal..." Tom's face grew serious and he kissed her gently.

"You are very valuable to me, Hermione," he stated sternly. "I would do anything to protect you." 

"Tom," she rolled her eyes dismissively. "You need to go back to Hogwarts; people will start wondering where you are and they're already suspicious that you were the one who took me. Actually, I'm sure they all know after the announcement." 

"No one at Hogwarts saw that announcement," he assured her. "I charmed the newspapers. Instead of an engagement announcement they saw an advertisement for toothpaste." 

"So no one knows? Not even Dumbledore?" 

Tom's grip on either side of her tightened and Hermione bit her lip. "Promise me that when we are married that you will never mention that old fool ever again," he growled. She looked down, trying to avoid his gaze. "Promise me, Hermione." 

"He's the only part of my past that's here," Hermione mumbled. "You must understand why he is important to me. Think about this, Tom. Most of the people I went to school with... their parents haven't even been born yet. The only familiar faces from my time at Hogwarts are Slughorn and Dumbledore." He rolled his eyes and stood up, walking over to her bedside table to put on his clothes. 

"Then be close with Slughorn," he suggested. "All I ask is that you stop worrying about Albus Dumbledore."

She said nothing more, because she could hear Mrs. Malfoy's heels outside the door and she knew she was about to come into the room and would find Tom in nothing but his trousers and Hermione completely naked. 

Sure enough, the door swung open and Mrs. Malfoy froze. 

"This is highly unusual," she said in surprise. "I... I don't know what to say! Hermione! Tom!" 

"Leave!" Hermione hissed at Tom as she slipped a nightgown on. "I promise, Mrs. Malfoy, nothing happened last night. Tom did spend the night but all we did was sleep." Tom said nothing in his defense and continued to quietly get dressed. 

"That is still rather inappropriate, but... I suppose if nothing was done then there's nothing to discuss. Come, Hermione, I've had a bath drawn for you." She was still clearly suspicious, but Tom was glaring daggers at her and it must have been an already established fact at Malfoy Manor that he was dangerous and not a man to cross. When he was dressed, he pressed a kiss to Hermione's cheek then apparated back to Hogwarts. "I hope he doesn't make a habit of that. Who knows what people what start to think if word got out that he was spending his nights with you! It wouldn't ruin his reputation, of course, but you, my dear... well, best try and stay modest and not do something like that again." 

Hermione resisted rolling her eyes. The expectations for women were almost ridiculous; she was amazed that Tom had actually wanted to have premarital sex, let alone go down on her, and believe her when she explained the flaws of the concept of virginity to him. For as radical yet conservative as Lord Voldemort was, she was beginning to think that there was a hint of progressive in Tom Riddle. 

Her bath that morning was a bit cold, but Hermione didn't mind. Once she was left alone, she cast a contraceptive charm - yet another thing that she had learned from Lavender - that could be used after the fact. 

"Thank Merlin," Hermione sighed. She was certain that the last thing Tom wanted to think about as he started his climb up the political ladder was what to paint the nursery. 

Hermione found herself falling into a dull routine; she would bathe, dress, eat breakfast with Mrs. Malfoy, read until lunch, then take tea later in the day, read some more, eat supper, then go to bed. She hoped that Tom didn't plan for their lives to be so... boring and predictable. Hermione remembered he had once shown some contempt for people who lived their lives like that, so she hoped that he would not let them become victims of routine too. 

"I just want to be back at school," she groaned as she climbed into her bed. One of the house-elves had changed the sheets at her request, which was a relief, but she found that her bed felt strangely empty without Tom. 

Dare she say it, she missed him. 

*****

Down on Knockturn Alley, a man opened up a copy of the Daily Prophet and flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. A dark-haired young man had a pretty brunette in his arms, and they were smiling brightly for a photographer. He raised a brow and read the caption aloud to himself. 

"'Mr. Tom Marvolo Riddle and Miss Hermione Jean Granger announce their engagement. The wedding is set for December, and will be hosted by friends of the bridegroom, Mr. and Mrs. Brutus Malfoy II. The event is set to be the Wedding of the Century, with an illustrious guest list, and Mrs. Malfoy as wedding planner, it is sure to be an elegant affair. The groom intends to work for the Ministry of Magic upon completion of his courses at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, while Miss Granger intends to take up a new role as homemaker.' Sickening," the man rolled his eyes as he crumpled up the paper. "What a waste of talent."

Glancing up and down the street, the man lowered his hood to reveal undercut blond hair and icy blue eyes. From the back, one might confuse him for a Malfoy, but facially there was no resemblance whatsoever. 

Gellert Grindelwald had returned to the U.K., and he had a mission. 

He had heard about Tom Riddle and his extraordinary talents, along with his penchant for Dark magic. Naturally, Grindelwald had become intrigued and wanted to meet the young man that was gaining quite the reputation. But with Dumbledore at Hogwarts, Grindelwald knew better than to dare to show his face anywhere near the castle. 

Enter Riddle's engagement with a lovely young girl, hosted by one of the wizarding world's most esteemed families. 

The Malfoys would lower their wards the night of the wedding to allow guests to come and go more freely. Knowing Helene Malfoy, the guest list was going to be unbelievably long. This would allow for wedding crashers to likely come and go as they pleased as well. It was a common thing for other witches and wizards to show up at weddings uninvited to get free food and drink. But Grindelwald had other ideas beyond mooching off of the Malfoys' generosity. 

The boy, considering his political aspirations, would spend most of his evening schmoozing high-ranking officials in the Ministry. That would mean his little wife would be left to the hens, who would pick and pick at her all night. It would be all too easy to get to her, and draw Riddle out that way. But Grindelwald liked a challenge. He didn't want to take the easy way out, even if it would get him the same result. 

He needed a fail-safe plan. And he was confident that he had one.

*****

2 June, 1998

Harry and Ron were going to be sick. 

The most recent diary entry of Abraxas Malfoy's that had changed concerned an interaction with Riddle after he, meaning Riddle, had gone to see Hermione. Harry and Ron both had attempted to read the secondhand telling of what had happened, but couldn't stomach it, so they made Malfoy get through it instead.

"'He said that he had never imagined that sex could be that amazing, and he was glad that he had chosen Hermione to be his wife. We asked him whether or not she had blown him, but Tom said that he hadn't even thought to ask. He joked that he would save that for their wedding night, which we all found quite funny. Lestrange asked if Hermione had came, and Tom said-'"

"Stop," Ron held his hands up. "Stop. I don't want to know if Moldy Voldy gave Hermione an orgasm. I don't... oh Merlin's beard that's horrible! I can't believe she fucked him!"

Harry nodded in agreement. But Malfoy wasn't arguing one way or the other. 

"Maybe it seems gross to you, Ron, because you're thinking about the Voldemort that Harry faced at the Battle of Hogwarts. But I've heard from more than one Death Eater that, in his youth, Lord Voldemort was an extremely attractive young man," Malfoy pointed out. "And Granger isn't stupid. She's a survivor. I don't think she enjoyed it; she's just doing what she has to until she can figure out how to get back here." His eyes flitted down to his grandfather's diary and gulped. If Riddle had been telling the truth when he had recounted his encounter with Hermione, however, it... it seemed like she must have enjoyed it. 

"Or she's just going to be his prisoner for the rest of her life," Ron groaned. "Hermione, married to Lord Voldemort." Harry winced at the thought and looked at Malfoy.

"Draco, have you heard anything about that time-turner?" he had written to the man who had designed he prototype the night they had arrived, trying to find out if he had done any more tests on them. Draco shook his head. "Great. Well, we've got three months. That's when the marriage is going to take place. If we can get back by then, Hermione might have a chance." 

"Or we'll be too late and Hermione will be Mrs. Tom Riddle," Ron pointed out. "Bloody hell. It's even worse when you hear it out loud." 

"Get over it, Weasley," Malfoy huffed. "We aren't going to make any progress if you keep whining about losing Granger. Do you want her back?" Ron nodded. "Then we need to work together and not get caught up in the details. The only important thing is that we get Hermione back so she can go back to being the insufferable know-it-all she always has been." 

"Draco's right," Harry agreed. "If we're going to get Hermione back, we need to put our heads together and figure out what we need to do to stop her back." 

"I still can't believe she fucked him," Ron muttered under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Don't forget to leave a comment/kudos!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore encounters an old friend and finds his conscience conflicted. Harry, Ron, and Draco discover new developments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is SHORT, so my apologies. The only other short chapter left is the last one, so there's no need to worry.

23 November, 1944

Dumbledore knew something was off as soon as he stepped into his office after his last class of the day. Rain pounded on the windowpanes; it was a dreary, late autumn day, and most of the students had been restless and cranky. Even Albus himself had felt somewhat... off. He couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong or who could possibly intruding in his office until he saw his copy of _The Tales of Beadle the Bard_ on his desk. 

"You shouldn't be here, you know," he said, watching as a figure stepped out from the shadows. 

Even decades after their falling out, Dumbledore felt a familiar pang in his chest at the sight of him. But Gellert Grindelwald wasn't the young man he remembered; though Albus imagined he was far from the red-haired, somewhat handsome young man he once was. But Grindelwald... he was different altogether. He seemed far more unhinged, crazed... Albus knew he wasn't the young man he had befriended all those years before. 

"I know, old friend," Grindelwald chuckled. "But I have a proposition for you. I know there's a little pest that's been in your hair for the past few years... a rather powerful wizard." 

Dumbledore knew exactly who he was referring to; obviously Gellert had taken an interest in none other than Tom Riddle. And he knew it was his responsibility as an educator to try and keep Gellert away from him, no matter how terrible he thought Riddle was. No matter how terrible he knew Riddle was. Albus had still been spending the better half of the past two months trying to pin Hermione Granger's disappearance on Riddle to no avail. 

"I'm not sure which student here you would be referring to," he lied. "And you need to leave." 

"You know you could never say no to me, Albus."

It was true; Gellert had been Albus' one weakness in his youth. Until... Until the incident with Ariana, Gellert could do no wrong in Albus' mind. But since then, he had watched his childhood friend turn into a monster. The kind of monster Hermione Granger had been trying to prevent Tom Riddle from turning into until she was kidnapped. But he knew that there was no way Gellert could be rehabilitated and the thought of turning a student over to him - let alone a student who was likely a threat and potentially more powerful than Gellert - made Albus' head ache. 

"I'm saying no to you now," he said icily. "And get out. I don't know how you got in here, but you need to leave, or else I will have to detain you." 

"I'd like to see you try," Grindelwald sneered. "Whatever happened to you, Albus? You've grown old and foolish. Whatever happened to For the Greater Good? Given up on your dreams? It's pathetic." Albus' grip on his wand tightened and he resisted the urge to cast a hex on him and contact the Ministry. It would be better than trying to protect Tom, or trying to face Gellert one-on-one.

"That part of me died with my sister," he replied. "It's amazing how quickly an old saying can turn sour in one's mouth when it's used as a rallying cry for blood supremacy."

Grindelwald's lips twitched slightly. He didn't like having his own words used against him; especially by a man who had once believed in them as much as he did. "I want the boy, Albus," he stated darkly. "You turn Tom Riddle over to me now and I can guarantee you I will cause no more trouble. Besides, I understand the boy has become a bit of a thorn in your side. Such a shame, of course, stealing him away before the wedding, but sometimes-"

"Wedding?" Albus questioned. "What wedding?"

"Oh, you didn't see it? It's been all over the Daily Prophet. Some little brunette girl; her name is unimportant of course, but yes. Our brilliant Mr. Riddle intends to get married. She's a pretty little thing; curly hair, soft brown eyes. Such a shame, really, that I need him; they would make a lovely pair." Albus had tuned him out after his description of the girl and slammed him into the table.

"What was her name, Gellert?" he hissed. "Tell me her name. Tell me!" Grindelwald cackled manically and stared him down.

"It seems we've reached an impasse. Give me the boy and I'll tell you her name," he retorted. "And honestly, Albus, I never took you as one to take that sort of interest in students. No longer interested in men, then?" It took all of Dumbledore's control to steadily pull his wand from his robes and hold it in Grindelwald's face. 

"You will tell me. You know I've always been better at hexes than you," he threatened. 

"Perhaps in the past," Grindelwald hummed. "But you'll find I've made some improvement since the last time we met. No matter. I've decided I don't really need your help. I've a much better opportunity to try and steal the boy away." He pushed Albus aside and walked toward the door to his office. "And, as usual, lovely to see you again, Albus." Dumbledore threw a body-bind at him, but Grindelwald deflected it with ease, strolling leisurely out the door before apparating out of the castle. Dumbledore had a strange feeling that it was the last time he would see Gellert that wouldn't lead to one of their destructions. 

He sat in his chair and slumped slightly, mulling over everything that Grindelwald had disclosed. Albus knew that he needed to avoid reading into what he had been told; Grindelwald was not above lying and cheating to get what he wants. But it appeared that his old-friend-now-enemy knew about Tom Riddle and his magical potential. Grindelwald also knew that Riddle planned to marry, and based on the description offered the lucky young lady was none other than the missing Hermione Granger. Which, in turn, confirmed Dumbledore's suspicion that Riddle had been behind the girl's disappearance in the end of September. This new knowledge led to conflict; he could confront Tom and reveal that he knew about the forced engagement, but if Grindelwald had been bluffing that would simply create more resentment from Riddle. But if Dumbledore did nothing, Riddle would not be prepared lest Grindelwald came for him.

Begrudgingly, Dumbledore made his way down to the Slytherin common room, where he found Tom sitting around with his fellow students. The young man looked up at him with obvious disdain.

"May I help you, professor?" he inquired.

"I need to speak with you, Tom. It's very urgent," he informed. He watched as Riddle got up from his seat among his peers and walked out into the hallway with him. "I have reason to suspect that Gellert Grindelwald has taken an interest in you. He means to collect you and recruit you. Now, I know you don't want me-"

"Thank you for your concern, professor, but I'm quite confident that I can take care of myself," Tom assured. 

Dumbledore said nothing as Tom reentered the Slytherin common room. He had done his duty, warning the boy of the dangers he was facing. It would be up to Tom to decide whether or not to be careful and cautious.

But it still scared him. He knew what Grindelwald could promise Tom, and for a young man who was as power-hungry as Riddle was... well, it was a dangerous combination. Miss Granger had already informed him of a future where Tom himself had completely succumbed to the Dark Arts; Dumbledore wasn't sure he could even fathom a world where Grindelwald and Riddle combined forces to try and rule the world. 

And then he began to think that maybe Miss Granger's idea hadn't been so poorly thought out. If it was possible to steer Riddle back from the already dangerous path he had started on, perhaps it would make him less likely to succumb to Grindelwald's temptation.

 _He isn't like you though. He won't be swayed so easily_ , Dumbledore thought. 

In fact, Tom wasn't half as naive as he had been at his age. Dumbledore wondered if that would be a good thing; perhaps he wouldn't be sold Grindelwald's lies and stories as easily. Or perhaps he would buy them more easily, wanting something to believe in, and hearing his own ideologies echoed in the words of a more successful, older man. 

It was all a terrifying thought. 

*****

Tom, meanwhile, was trying to take what Dumbledore had said with a grain of salt. He wasn't sure why Grindelwald would be interested in him; sure, his talents were becoming well-known, but he was not interested in the mania of Grindelwald's movement. It was inspiring, sure, to see how he had amassed such a following, and certainly was something Tom himself aspired to, but it all seemed like madness. 

And after what Hermione had showed him of his future, succumbing to madness wasn't very high on Tom's to-do list. Power and immortality was one thing; complete and utter madness was another. And he didn't plan on mixing the two. 

He found himself thinking about the last time he'd seen Hermione. It had been about two weeks ago; she had written to him, once again proclaiming her boredom, and he had been more than happy to come and entertain her. It had been hurried, right before she had to go down to dinner, but Tom found himself thinking that it was good practice for their future. 

The future.

It was a topic he had loved thinking about once upon a time; imagining his total domination of the world was the closest to excitement he ever got. But now his vision for the future had to include Hermione, and that made things look different. Things were looking... domestic. And he wasn't sure if he hated it or loved it.

When he thought about it, he would have more power than his filthy muggle father could ever imagine. That made him feel... good.

And if he married Hermione, he would have the wedded bliss his pathetic mother could never succeed in having. Also good.

The fact that his soon-to-be wife also had unlimited knowledge of events that were to come to pass, making him immune to any possible political embarrassment long before it could even occur? It was a match made in muggle heaven, as far as Tom was concerned. 

But real life could always get in the way. She could have a baby, and then what? He didn't know the first thing about being a dad. He didn't know about changing diapers and burping and buying them their first broom and scheduling play-dates. Hermione, though... he was sure she would make an amazing mum. She would be like Abraxas' mum, but smarter and more involved, he imagined. 

_Stop it. She's all just a part of your plan_ , he thought angrily, starting to grow frustrated with himself. _You can't get emotional, you can't get attached. She's just part of the plan. Nothing more._

But Tom knew deep down that she was becoming more than just part of the plan. Hermione was, for all intents and purposes, his equal. She was a brilliant witch, truly the brightest of her age and certainly of his. And she... she complemented him. For every bad thing he had ever done, she had done ten good things. It was honestly maddening at times how good she was, but for the sake of his image... he could tolerate it. And he had felt hate in her heart, too. She wasn't perfectly pure and untouched. When he had first encountered her, months ago in the Chamber, he had felt the hate roll off of her at the sight of him. 

But when he looked in her mind, he understood. Merlin's beard, he was quite disgusted by what he had seen. Why would his future self ever desire to look like a snake? 

But with Hermione, he could keep that from ever happening.

Hopefully.

*****

30 July, 1998

Between Ron's constant whining and the updates on Hermione and Riddle via Abraxas Malfoy's diary, Harry was getting ready to give up. Furthermore, every time they thought they were on a trail to find a way to get back to Hermione, the traces would fizzle out into nothing. They were grasping at straws. Draco was trying his hardest to get some sort of contact, but many of his father's associates had gone into hiding after the end of the war.

"Still no luck?" Narcissa Malfoy sighed as she looked into the study. Draco was laying on the ground, clutching another letter that said they had no knowledge of Dark magic.

"Mother, are you sure father doesn't have any time-turners?" he asked, trying not to whine.

Harry and Ron looked up from the most recent diary entry, recalling Hermione's start at Malfoy Manor, and how pleased Abraxas' mother was with her. They both imagined - or hoped - it was an act, but they both were worried that Hermione could be under the influence of the Imperius curse. They couldn't think of any other reason Hermione would be so compliant. 

"Hmm, let's see..." Narcissa walked over to a chest that was locked with a powerful charm. Being a skilled witch herself, and knowing her husband well, she managed to open it. As she rummaged around, Harry, Ron, and Draco all held their breath. For a moment, she stopped before pulling a golden time-turner out of the chest. "There. And... it looks rather peculiar; it appears that it can go both forward and backward in time." 

Draco got to his feet and strode over to her. She placed it gingerly in his hand and Draco turned back to the boys.

"Great! Let's go get Hermione, then!" Ron exclaimed. Both Draco and Harry noted that he had perked up almost immediately at the promise of bringing Hermione back. "Maybe while we're there we can deck Moldy Voldy in the face. I'm sure Hermione would like that." Harry and Draco exchanged glances; they weren't so sure if she would like such things. 

"We can't just jump back fifty years into the past without a plan," Draco stated. "We also can't just be waltz into Malfoy Manor fifty years ago and steal the Dark Lord's fiancée. We need a plan, Weasley." Harry nodded in agreement and looked back at Ron, who seemed upset and must have been feeling betrayed since Harry did agree with Draco. 

"Bloody hell, Hermione is back in bed with Lord Voldemort and you two want to sit around and chat!" Ron shouted. "We need to go get her! Who cares what happens as long as we get her home!" 

Harry sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You know he's right, Ron."

"Then... Then I'm not going," Ron huffed. "I don't want to go back and see her smooching Tom Riddle or... or worse. You two can go. I'm done." Harry groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose; Ron was behaving so irrationally that Harry couldn't believe it. 

Draco didn't say a word as Ron left almost immediately.

"Well, Potter, it looks like it's just you and me," Malfoy sighed as they sat down on the sofa and began to come up with a strategy to get Hermione back.

They decided that the best idea would be to wait until the wedding; if they interrupted the reception, particularly, Hermione could get lost in the busyness of it all and Tom could be off schmoozing Ministry men. Riddle wouldn't be paying any attention to his new wife, and Draco imagined his great-grandparents would soften the wards around the Manor, making it easier for them to get on the grounds to crash the wedding anyway. They decided to wait another month; the timelines would likely line up since an equal amount of time will have passed. And the extra month would give Draco and Harry a chance to examine the time-turner to see just how it worked. If it worked. 

And that was a really big "if."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I don't hate Ron but his tendency to be irrational when thinking about things made his little hissy fit make sense.
> 
> Don't forget to leave kudos/a comment!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Wedding festivities ensue. Hermione gets a big surprise at her bridal shower that puts everything into perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really trying to finish this one up, mostly because I think there could be a sequel from how I wrote the ending. Also, I'm trying to work on my other Tomione fic, Orpheus, which is giving me a lot of trouble.

Tom returned to the Slytherin common room after an unusually grueling day of finals. It was almost winter break, however, and he was looking forward to seeing Hermione again. He was hoping that he would be able to slink off to his bed and sleep until the morning, but it seemed that his cohorts had other plans for him. The common room was decorated with a rather hastily made banner that proclaimed that tonight was a "stag party." The boys all cheered, and had copious amounts of alcohol that Tom ought to have confiscated as Head Boy. 

"We know what you're thinking," Abraxas said as he put a glass of fire whiskey in Tom's hand. "But we figured it would be easier to have a party now than later with my parents breathing down all of our necks." 

"You know I don't drink," Tom muttered as he handed the glass back to him. "And as Head Boy I ought to confiscate all of this." 

The other seventh year Slytherin boys all groaned and cursed. Abraxas rolled his eyes and forced the drink back into Tom's hands. "Come on," he sighed. "You only get married once, after all. Might as well hit all the stops, eh? And besides, you need to learn to drink if you're going to keep up with those Ministry men; they even drink my father under the table."

Tom grimaced, but brought the glass to his lips and drank the burning liquid. The boys all cheered and ushered him over to one of the black leather armchairs. He filled up his glass when he noticed the poorly wrapped gifts piled on a side table, and he could only imagine what his classmates had gotten him. Much to his surprise, he was getting used to the taste of the fire whiskey and threw his glass back and drained it. He felt the warm feeling start to spread through his extremities and he decided it wasn't necessarily an unpleasant sensation. 

It was a night of unrivaled debauchery the likes of which the halls of Hogwarts would never see again. Tom found himself wondering what Hermione was up to; he remembered hearing that Mrs. Malfoy was planning a bridal shower for her - something that Hermione had written to him about, complaining that she didn't want one.

"Abraxas," he looked to his acquaintance who was currently trying to best Lestrange at a game that muggles called Quarters. "Did your mother end up having that shower for Hermione?"

"Only you could think about your fiancée at a stag party," Avery groaned. "I'm sure she did, and I'm sure that Hermione got lots of lovely dishes and silverware and other stupid things that brides like to get for their wedding. Stop worrying, and have another drink." Tom didn't argue, hoping he could drown his worries in fire whiskey. He watched as Avery pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. "You need to have a good time tonight; Merlin knows it's the last time you'll get to have any fun." Tom scowled and finished his third - or was it his fourth? - drink of the night. He wasn't quite sure.

"Alright, alright!" Lestrange shouted over the crowd. "It's time for Tom to open his presents!" The boys all shouted again and the pile levitated over to Tom's feet.

If he had to guess, seventy-five to eighty percent of the gifts made him feel like blushing. Most of the embarrassing gifts had to do with the bedroom, and Tom was quick to pack them all away as soon as he opened them. Of course, there were some thoughtful gifts as well; Abraxas gave him a flask with his initials engraved in it, and Avery got him a cut-crystal ashtray - though Tom assured him that it would rarely be used. Even Lestrange was generous, giving him a crystal decanter set. 

"Things they won't give to the little wife, but things you'll want nonetheless," Avery explained. 

"Thank you, truly," he stated. "But it's getting rather late and we all have-" he was interrupted by a chorus of groans and sighed, filling up his glass once more and getting to his feet. "Fine then. A toast. To the illustrious boys of Slytherin. May our lives be plentiful, our wives eternally pretty, and our Gringotts' accounts never empty." 

"Hear, hear!" Abraxas yelled, and all the boys raised their glasses. "And... here is to our notorious leader. I never thought he would be the first of us to get married. Blood hell, I never thought he would get married at all. But he captured the perfect girl for him, and we hope that he can keep up with her. To Riddle!" 

"To Riddle!" the boys chorused. Tom hid a smile behind his glass, finishing another. 

"And with that, I really must get to bed," Tom sighed. He started in the direction of the dormitory when he realized that he in fact had patrol that night and had forgotten. "Merlin's beard..." he stalked off out of the common room and into the hall, finding that his head was spinning and he felt funny. "This is going to be a long night..."

He staggered off in his usual route, but if anyone had snuck past him or had been hiding he was far too sloshed to notice. Tom made a note to himself never to drink with Abraxas ever again, lest he value his internal organs. At one point, he was fairly certain he was going to be sick, and leaned against the wall to try and steady himself. "Bloody hell, and some people actually like to drink?" he groaned. Once the feeling had passed, he continued on his way, only to run into Professor Dumbledore.

"Ah, Mr. Riddle. Isn't it a bit late for you to be making your rounds?" he inquired. 

"Oh, h-hello, professor," Tom managed with a slight hiccup. "No, of course not. Just taking my time tonight is all." He hated how the old man seemed to probe him, not buying his excuse. "Best be on my way, need to get to bed." How he managed not to either vomit or fall over as he walked - no, staggered - back to the dormitory was beyond him, but Tom was relieved when his face hit the pillow.

*****

"... Of course, this was a long time ago, but brides always seemed so much younger!" a witch whose name Hermione had forgotten cackled as she told some joke about a poor girl being terrified on her wedding night. 

Never had Hermione wanted to gouge her eyes out as much as she wanted to during her own bridal shower. She had told Mrs. Malfoy that it wasn't necessary, but the woman had insisted and organized the party herself. All Hermione had to do was show up, but she felt like she wasn't even there. The women were all using the occasion to compare wealth and husbands and children, and didn't pay any mind to the actual guest of honor. Instead, Hermione had become the hostess, as Mrs. Malfoy was quickly wrapped up in socializing with her friends.

"More finger sandwiches?" Hermione inquired as she approached a table of women. They all turned to acknowledge her and finally seemed to remember their manners. 

"Ah, yes! The bride-to-be!" A blonde exclaimed. "Oh, you are lovely. You'll make a lovely Minister's wife. If that's what your husband plans to do; Tom does intend to work for the Ministry when he's done with school, doesn't he? It would be such a waste of talent if he chose not to." Hermione nodded and smiled, wishing the day could be over.

Not that it wasn't a lovely day or a lovely party; it had snowed the night before so the outside world looked like a snowy fairytale land. Inside, the dining room had been set up to host the ladies, and everything was decorated in soft pastel shades. Hermione herself was in a pale pink dress that was a little too lightweight for winter, but no one seemed to really care much. They were too busy chatting and enjoying the delicious food that had been prepared for the occasion. Hermione's gaze drifted over to the impressive pile of gifts stacked next to a chair with a big pink bow on it. The presents were all immaculately wrapped, and stacked in a pyramidal shape. She had been to a muggle bridal shower before and knew what to expect for the most part; towels, dishes, silverware, perhaps lingerie from one of the younger guests. But she wasn't quite sure what a bunch of pureblood witches would give at a bridal shower. 

"Hermione, I think it's time you opened presents," Mrs. Malfoy told her. 

Smoothing her dress, Hermione made her way over to her seat, picking the first gift and unwrapping it. Inside the box, was, not unsurprisingly, a beautiful set of china dishes. She thanked the woman who gave them to her, and continued her quest to open her gifts. Mrs. Malfoy collected each gift with a note of who gave what so Hermione would be able to send out thank-you notes when all was said and done.

As Hermione had expected, most of the gifts were for the home, but a few were more interesting. One woman gave her a memoir written by a former Minister for Magic's wife, while another gifted her an expensive bottle of champagne.

"For the wedding night," she told her. "Calms the nerves." 

Hermione imagined they all would be mortified to know she and Tom had already been intimate, so she simply laughed and thanked her. 

Once the mountain of gifts was opened, everyone convened in the parlor for a quiet cocktail hour. Hermione was quick to order a drink, nursing a martini while sitting on the plush green velvet sofa. She was actually looking forward to Tom's arrival in a couple days; the mere thought of him had heat pooling in her stomach and she cursed herself softly for getting slightly aroused. Still, she missed him and she definitely missed being intimate with him.

Hermione was pulled from her thoughts when Mrs. Malfoy approached with three pretty blonde girls who looked like sisters.

"Hermione, these are Abraxas' cousins on my side; they're going to be your bridesmaids. Meet Juliette, Marguerite, and Christine." The blondes all flashed dazzling smiles and Hermione was reminded strongly of Fleur Delacour. 

"It is lovely to meet you," Hermione nodded to them. 

They all giggled and began to speak at the same time and Hermione was overwhelmed with French accents and questions about Tom. She answered them as patiently and as truthfully as she could, all the while sipping her drink and wishing they would leave. Thankfully, once their curiosities were sated they all flitted off to their aunt to tell her whatever they had learned. This left Hermione to think about what would happen when Tom arrived at Malfoy Manor. When he had visited her in the evening about a month ago, their coupling had been hurried and sloppy; he'd bent her over her vanity and taken her from behind, fast and rough, as they raced each other to their releases. Hermione hadn't hated it; in fact, she found the manner of it had fit them. 

All of a sudden, Hermione felt somewhat queasy. Her gaze dropped to her half-finished drink as she set it down and made her way to the first floor bathroom as quickly as she could without alarming anyone. Slamming the door shut behind her, she barely made it to the commode before she was violently sick. After retching twice - and effectively throwing up her entire lunch - Hermione slumped against the sink and wiped off her mouth. She wondered how she could have gotten sick; she hadn't been around any sick people, and generally she was healthy. 

A soft knock on the door drew her from her thoughts and she got up unsteadily, hoping she wouldn't start vomiting again. 

"Hermione, are you alright?" Mrs. Malfoy questioned as soon as she got a look at her. "You look almost pallid." In a classic motherly move, she pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and frowned. "No fever... Do you tend to get that bad of cramps before your monthly?" Hermione shook her head.

"No, actually. In fact, I'm-" she stopped and counted back the weeks. Tom had come to see her and they had fucked... five weeks ago. "Oh no..." Hermione couldn't believe she had been so stupid! She had been accrediting the tenderness in her breasts and her mood swings to her period coming, but she had been off by a week (she had always been fairly regular). "Mrs. Malfoy, I think I've just caught a little bug; maybe I should just head upstairs and-" she was cut off by the need to run to the toilet and retch once more. 

By that time, a crowd of guests had gathered outside the bathroom, curious as to what was wrong with the guest of honor. Mrs. Malfoy shooed them all aside and informed Hermione that she was going to send for a Healer. 

While that was the last thing she wanted, Hermione was too nauseated to truly care as she staggered up the stairs to her bedroom, carrying a dustbin with her lest she get sick again. 

When the Healer arrived, a rosy-cheeked young woman from St. Mungo's, Mrs. Malfoy led her up to Hermione's bedroom and stood at the foot of the bed as the woman examined Hermione. She frowned a bit when she completed her examination and looked at Hermione questioningly.

"Miss Granger, have you... been intimate with anyone in the past month? Perhaps your fiancé?" she inquired. Hermione's gaze flitted from her to Mrs. Malfoy. She hesitated before nodding. "Ah, then that would explain it. I imagine you forgot to use a contraception charm?" Her cheeks felt hot as she nodded yet again. "Well, Miss Granger, it appears then that you're going to have a baby. I'd say you're only four weeks along, so we caught it early. Best try to moderate your alcohol consumption, and not exert yourself too much. You should be fine for your wedding, which is... a week away?" Once again, Hermione nodded. "Then you should be fine. I've seen this plenty, even among young people like you and Mr. Riddle. No one will be the wiser, especially because how early you are in your pregnancy. Congratulations." Mrs. Malfoy escorted the Healer from the room before returning. 

"Please don't be mad," Hermione mumbled weakly. Mrs. Malfoy laughed and sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through her hair.

"I'm not mad," she chuckled. "I'm disappointed that you and Tom felt like you needed to hide this from me, but I am so happy for you, Hermione. And... And you might feel scared right now - that first baby is always terrifying - but when you bring that little boy or girl into the world... oh, there is nothing better than that." Her smile was warm and Hermione was grateful for the lack of judgment. "Do you want to tell Tom now or later?" 

"I... I'll wait to tell him in person," Hermione decided. She noticed a small vial of an anti-nausea potion and took it without a thought. "Let's go back down so I can go say goodbye to my guests." Mrs. Malfoy nodded and helped her out of bed.

Hermione made her way downstairs, managing a smile for the women who were none the wiser.

"Thank you so much for coming!" she told them all. "And thank you for all the lovely gifts. They will certainly make wherever Tom and I end up living in London feel much homier. I am very grateful, and, while I'm not sure I can speak for Tom, I'm sure he will be very grateful as well." As soon as they left, however, Hermione grimaced and made her way up to bed, falling asleep almost immediately. 

*****

When Tom arrived just two days later, Hermione was in bed throwing up into a dustbin. He entered her room almost immediately, dropping his school trunk just outside the door. She managed a weak smile for him and he ran a hand through her hair. 

"Are you okay? Are you sick?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly. Hermione shook her head.

"No, I'm fine," she told him, setting down the dustbin and sitting up slightly and propping herself up. "In fact, I'm... I'm wonderful." Her hand trembled slightly as he took his and placed it on her stomach. She could see that he was confused, and Hermione ran her hand through his hair. "Tom... I'm pregnant." 

He seemed to go through a wide and varied range of emotions in a short period of time. At first he seemed surprised, then worried, followed by sad, and then... nothing. 

"Tom?" she said softly. "Please say something." 

"Are... Are you sure?" he mumbled, his voice barely higher than a whisper. Hermione nodded. 

"Mrs. Malfoy had a Healer from St. Mungo's come and confirm it," she admitted. "Tom, if you don't want to-"

"No," his lips twitched into a small smile. "I... I just thought about my... parents... for a moment. But we did it right, Hermione. I shouldn't think about them." She nodded in agreement. "This is wonderful. It really is." But internally, he was screaming at the top of his lungs in panic at the thought of having to be a father because Merlin knows he doesn't know the first thing about being a parent. 

Hermione had a feeling he was freaking out a bit, so she got out of bed and drank some of her anti-nausea potion. "Come on, I'll fix you a drink and we can talk," she took his hand and pulled on her robe. 

Tom wasn't going to argue with her on that, and was rather comfortable in the Malfoy's study. Hermione poured him a glass of fire whiskey, and he winced slightly in remembrance of his stag party. 

"This will be new for both of us," she admitted. "I was raised by... muggles... so all I know is how to handle a child like that. I don't know about... enchanted pacifiers and self-changing nappies and all that. So we're both going to have to learn, together." She laughed a bit and settled next to him on the oversized sofa. "It will probably be the first time in our lives that we will be behind the learning curve." Tom chuckled and wrapped an arm around her, lazily stroking her waist.

"I think I want a girl," he told her. "I'm not sure if I could handle trying to raise a little version of myself." Hermione nodded, understanding completely. 

"I always wanted a daughter," she admitted. She never thought she'd be having children so young, but she didn't feel... scared. Maybe it was because she knew Tom would quite literally kill anyone who tried to hurt her or their child, but it was also because she felt... supported. If she was like Mrs. Malfoy, and had a husband who took little interest in her or their child, then she would be terrified. But she knew Tom was invested in her, for better or worse, and he would feel the same way about their child.

"Whatever they'll be, they'll be very powerful." They both looked up at the sound of Abraxas' voice. He was standing in the doorway, a small smile on his face. "Congratulations, you two." 

"Thanks, Abraxas," they both told him. 

*****

That night, Tom and Hermione lay side-by-side in her bed, not touching, except for their hands which were intertwined. 

"Are we in over our heads?" she asked quietly, turning to look at him. He rolled onto his side and pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin. "I mean, someone will see through this, through us. Someone is bound to see through what we've created." 

"People see what they want to see," Tom murmured. "You know that."

Hermione found that to be true. After all, history may have been written by the victors but people often decided to believe what they wanted to believe. But would people buy the version of history she was helping Tom write? Would they even succeed, or would she have to stand idly by as Tom fell into the same habits he did from the time she was from? 

"I know, but... I just worry," she sighed. Her hand moved down to her stomach and she rubbed it tenderly. Tom cupped her cheek gently and kissed her forehead.

"I will not let anyone harm you. Or the baby," he promised. "I will do everything in my power to make a better world for them." And while she wouldn't have taken Tom Riddle's word three months earlier, she knew he was telling her the truth. 

And it scared her.

She knew he had a background in Dark magic already - he already had two horcruxes - and he was not afraid to use Unforgivable Curses on people. He had a temper. And he wasn't afraid to manipulate people to get what he wants. He wasn't afraid to kill people to get what he wants.

"I know you won't," was all she could manage to say. 

That seemed to satisfy him, as he rolled back over on his back, and before long his breathing steadied and his chest rose and fell. Hermione sat up, looking down at her belly and smiled sadly. 

"You're going to be born into a much better world to be a little witch or wizard," she murmured. "Even if your father has to kill everyone who stands in his way to make it better for you." Hermione felt crazy, but she imagined it was the hormones. Her mother told her once that she talked to her every day when she was in the womb, so Hermione imagined it wasn't a bad idea. Maybe she could even get Tom to talk to the baby, since Hermione had seen home videos of her father talking to her. 

She cast a glance at Tom and sighed. How many of her 1944 classmates would likely kill her to be in her position? To be engaged to the handsomest boy in their year and to be pregnant already? 

"You're overthinking everything, Hermione," she mumbled to herself. As she settled down to bed, she wondered what Harry and Ron were up to, and if they had given up searching for her. Part of her hoped they hadn't; it would be so sweet to see them again someday, and her one hope was that somehow they had found a time-turner or something that would allow them to come rescue her. But now that she was pregnant, going home was more difficult. If she went back to her time carrying Lord Voldemort's baby, she would be in grave danger. People on her own side would demand she get rid of it, while Voldemort's Death Eaters would likely try to steal her away so they could take the baby from her and raise it to be a little demon. 

Hermione was beginning to find that she had more agency in 1944 as a housewife than in 1998 as a single woman. It was a strange thought, but when Tom had promised protection, he also guaranteed her some independence. She had never been one to admit a need for a man, but she feared she needed Tom Riddle if she was to stay safe. 

"Bloody hell," she sighed as she stared up at the ceiling. It was rather late, and she needed to sleep if she was to be pleasant in the morning. 

Her dreams left her restless; she dreamed of home and her friends and her former life. The homesickness was quite unbearable, and it didn't help her difficulty of falling asleep. Maybe someday, she imagined, she could ask Tom to try and send her back, at least for a day, so she could see them. 

Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!!!
> 
> Don't forget to leave a comment/kudos!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we only have four more chapters to go after this one! I really hope everyone likes the wedding, and it has been a long time since I've been to one, so I apologize now.

24 December, 1944

She couldn't believe the day had finally come. Hermione woke up early to find Malfoy Manor absolutely chaotic. Wrapping herself up in her robe, she made her way downstairs to try and find Mrs. Malfoy. She was instructing two house-elves on how to hang the holly decorations in the dining room when she turned to find Hermione. 

"There's the bride-to-be!" she exclaimed. "Oh, darling, you best rest and take your time getting ready this morning; it's bound to be a long day. Have Peekey draw you a bath and just enjoy it, alright? There's no hurry."

"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy," she smiled. Peekey fell into step alongside Hermione and drew her a bath. She did as Mrs. Malfoy had told, soaking in the warm water and thinking. Part of her was screaming at her for going along with Tom's plan, for being weak and allowing her emotions to dictate her decisions. But another part of her was praising her for being clever; by going through with this, she was guaranteeing her survival, at least for a time, in a hostile environment. 

Hermione finished her bath and returned to her room, dressing in simple undergarments that wouldn't give her any lines beneath her dress. Once more, she used a smoothing charm and worked her hair up into two Victory rolls. While she had never been one for makeup, she put on a red lipstick and cautiously put on mascara as she was not used to the older formula. 

"Well, you certainly look the part," she sighed to herself.

Mrs. Malfoy entered the room and smiled at the sight of her. "You look wonderful," she complimented. "And I brought something for you, to complete your look." Hermione turned and watched as she carried in a rather large jewelry box. Curiously, she watched as Mrs. Malfoy opened the box to reveal a beautiful three-strand pearl necklace and matching post earrings. 

"Oh, they're lovely, but I couldn't possibly!" Hermione exclaimed. Mrs. Malfoy shook her head and undid the clasp of the necklace, putting it on for her.

"Nonsense," she dismissed. "You deserve them. You know, many women like to wear diamonds in their wedding day... but I don't think you need them. You shine all on your own, Hermione. And I know you will make Tom very happy." Hermione had never heard such kind words from a Malfoy before. She was shocked.

"Well, thank you," she told her. "I'll return them to you before Tom and I head to bed, though."

"Consider them a wedding gift," Mrs. Malfoy said. "I've always thought it best if a Minister's wife has a good set of pearls." And without another word, she left the room. 

Hermione gingerly touched the beautiful necklace, and took the earrings out and put them on before turning and looking at her dress. She hadn't tried it on since the day hey had bought it, and she hoped it would still fit as wonderfully as it had that day. 

She found she was getting cold feet, and Hermione imagined she could try to make a run for it, but she knew that Tom would find her and likely kill her out of spite and anger.

"Best make a good show of it," she muttered as she got up from her vanity seat and put on her dress.

Hermione knew that most of what Riddle was forcing her to go through was all an act; he was still the twisted psychopath that she had encountered in the future, and he would try to control every aspect of her to try and help his image. In his mind, she would be his silly little wife who wore beautiful clothes and smiled prettily for the cameras when the paper came around, and would give him children to continue the family name. It was almost an insult; Tom knew how smart she was, and he also knew that she knew quite a lot about his future. Not only did Hermione find it insulting, but she found it rather stupid of him not to make her more useful. 

A knock on the door drew Hermione from her thoughts, and she moved to answer it. Standing in the hall, Abraxas Malfoy had a small smile on his face at the sight of her. "Merlin, Hermione, you look... beautiful," he told her. "Tom's gonna be really happy."

"Is he using you as a way to try and see me before the wedding?" she questioned. 

"Of course not," Abraxas laughed. "My mum sent me up here to tell you that everyone's getting ready to go. Tom's already in place, so it's safe for you to come out of your room now." Hermione glanced back at her vanity and noticed her veil.

"Thanks, Abraxas. I'll be right down," she said. Hermione closed the door and walked back over to the vanity, sitting down on the plush seat. She carefully stuck the simple veil in her hair, pulling it down over her face subtly. It hit her that this would be the last time she would look at her reflection as Hermione Granger; during the ceremony, she would become Mrs. Tom Riddle. It felt like a punch to her gut, and she clenched her fists at her sides. She tried convincing herself that she would have the opportunity to be her own person; that Hermione Granger wouldn't cease to exist just because she took his name. "I will not be humble and penitent. I will not be another insipid little wife. Hidden and patient - that will be my motto. Because someday he will need me, and I will be ready."

*****

Hermione stood just outside the dining room, which had been filled with rows upon rows of black chairs with silver bows on them. Mr. Malfoy was going to be giving Hermione away, which she found somewhat amusing. She heard the string quartet in the dining room begin to play the processional, and she smoothed the skirt of her dress before picking up her bouquet of red roses and holding them tightly. 

The doors opened and she took Mr. Malfoy's arm, her eyes focusing on the end of the long, silver carpet that had been laid out. She was surprised to see Tom not in formal robes, but in a simple black suit instead. 

Everyone rose to their feet, and she heard all the wives and daughters of the important men in attendance whisper about her dress and her hair and her flowers. She kept her eyes fixed on Tom, who had his usual smirk on his face, hands clasped behind his back. The officiant had a stupidly joyful smile on his face, as did Mrs. Malfoy, who dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. It felt like the longest walk of her life, heading up to the front of the room, but when she reached Tom the world seemed to stop for just a minute as he took her hand. 

"You look perfect," he whispered to her.

"I'm glad you're pleased," she chuckled. "You don't look too bad yourself." They turned to face the officiant who began to speak to the crowd, and Hermione felt her heart flutter softly. 

"We are gathered here today on this glorious winter day to observe the joining of these two young people as they proclaim their love in the most powerful way that they can: marriage. As they stand here before you, they leave behind the goals or troubles of their individual lives because from this day forward they share their ambition, and their trials and tribulations, as one couple..." Hermione stopped listening at that point, spacing out until she found herself facing Tom. He managed a small smile as the officiant began the vows. "Tom, will you take Hermione to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to love her, comfort her, and keep her in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," he stated confidently. Hermione vaguely realized that the officiant was addressing her.

"Hermione, will you take Tom to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, and keep him in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?"

She took a deep breath and found the words. "I do." 

"I believe you have rings to exchange?" The officiant inquired. Hermione nodded and turned to her Maid of Honor, who was one of Abraxas' cousins, to retrieve the simple gold band she had picked for Tom. The only interesting feature was that inside the band, the symbol of the Deathly Hallows was engraved. "I believe you've chosen your words...?" They both nodded and Hermione watched as Tom took her left hand. She stared at the beautiful emerald and diamond ring, watching as it slipped perfectly onto her finger.

"With this ring," his eyes met hers, "I thee wed." The officiant nodded to Hermione and she took Tom's hand in hers.

"With this ring... I thee wed," she stated softly. 

The officiant smiled and looked up to address those gathered, who all seemed enchanted by the lovely young couple in front of them. "Now before the people who have assembled here tonight, and in as much as you have pledged your lifelong commitment, love and devotion, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Those who all The Powers of the Universe have joined together, let no one put asunder." He paused, and Hermione was slightly amused at the older man's pride in his own words. "You may kiss the bride." 

Tom cupped Hermione's cheek gently, and kissed her softly on the lips as the recessional music began to play. When they separated, he offered her his arm and they proceeded back down the aisle together. 

"Do you like the ring?" he whispered to her as they came to a small room that had been prepared for the signing of the marriage certificate. 

"I do," she replied. "This seems unreal..." The officiant walked in, as did Abraxas and his cousin, who were the witnesses. Hermione felt insecure about her handwriting next to Tom's unusually elegant script, but he said nothing and they were escorted out. Then the endless train of photos began. Hermione had never seen so many cameras in her life, and her cheeks hurt from smiling so much by the time they were finished. "I need a drink..." she whispered to him. Tom laughed and patted her hand, which squeezed his arm as they walked outside into the enchanted tent that had been set up for the reception. Even though it was already getting dark out, and it was snowing, it was cozy beneath the tent and everyone seemed comfortable. 

"Don't drink too much," he murmured to her. "You don't want to make a scene. And it's not good for the baby.” Hermione rolled her eyes but didn't argue. 

They were seated together at the head table, with the members of the wedding party, and Hermione was relieved when a charmed bottle of champagne came right over to her and filled her glass. Tom sipped from his own glass as his eyes flitted over the crowd. 

"There's the head of the Department of Mysteries," he whispered to her. "And the head of the Auror's Office... No... that's the Minister for Magic! Leonard Spencer-Moon. He's close with the muggle Prime Minister-"

"Winston Churchill," Hermione finished for him. Tom nodded and started to get up, only to sit back down. "What's the matter?"

"I don't know if I should go to him or wait for him to come here," he sighed. 

"Go on and introduce yourself to some of the other Ministry men," she suggested. "I'm sure he'll come over if he sees you striking up a conversation with someone." Tom kissed her cheek and got up, heading over to the head of the Auror's office. Hermione sighed and sat as properly as she could while she finished her glass of champagne. 

Before she could get it refilled, however, a gaggle of women who Hermione had seen with some of the men Tom was planning to speak to approached her.

"You were a beautiful bride, Miss Granger," the first, who was a tall, red-headed woman, complimented. "I can only hope that my son can find a girl as lovely as you, and that my daughter can be as poised as you on her wedding day." Hermione nodded to her.

"Thank you, Mrs...?" she trailed off, not knowing her name. 

"Whitmore," she offered. "My husband is the head of the Auror's Office. And I must say, he is quite interested in your Tom as his newest Auror upon his completion of his courses." The portly, older woman next to her laughed and shot the redhead a look.

"Not if my husband gets to him first," she jabbed. "Lillian Spencer-Moon, Mrs. Riddle." Hermione brightened instinctively and shook her hand.

"Your husband is the Minister for Magic," she said. "Oh, Tom would be honored to serve him." Hermione realized she must have said the right words as the woman seemed pleased with her statement. "It is wonderful to have some company; I dare say I might have to wrangle Tom away to get him to bed tonight!" The women all were aflutter, likely thinking that Hermione was trying to joke her way through her wedding night jitters.

"Best just wait for him to come to you," Mrs. Whitmore suggested. "Merlin knows they all have their urges; it's better for all of us if we just accommodate them." 

"Well, thank you for the wonderful advice, Mrs-"

"Hermione," Mrs. Malfoy came up behind her, effectively saving her from having to hear any more marriage bed advice from either woman. "Come stand with me and hold the wedding purse; some of the guests were wondering when you were going to do it." Hermione excused herself and went over by the cake, which was even prettier than it had been in the display, and held a little ivory silk purse. 

As if on cue, the guests slowly filed over and deposited their wedding gifts. She had never seen so many galleons in all her life, but she tried her best not to show her surprise. Hermione quickly realized their was an expansion charm on the purse, as it grew rather heavy but never appeared to be full. When everyone had filed through, the purse was taken away to put in a more secure location. Hermione made her way over to Tom, who was standing around with a few political figures, now including the Minister for Magic. She coughed slightly as she entered the cloud of cigarette smoke that floated around them. 

"Tom, dear, are you ready to cut the cake?" she asked, her voice a little more than a whisper. She rested her hand on the small of his back. 

He turned and looked at her, a cigarette hanging from between his lips and Hermione tried to hide her distaste. "Of course, darling," he said dismissively. "Just one moment; the Minister was recounting this rather amusing story about Prime Minister Churchill and his bathtub." Tom wrapped an arm around her waist and held her close as the Minister smoked a cigar - not unlike his muggle counterpart - and told some rather awful story about Churchill that had all the men laughing. Hermione managed a small smile, but simply wanted to cut the cake then get to bed.

"Say, she really is lovely," Spencer-Moon noted. "You won't be bored, Riddle." Tom laughed and pulled Hermione closer, causing her to blush.

"I'm a lucky man, Minister, what can I say?" he chuckled. "What do you say, Hermione? Let's cut the cake."

She was relieved to leave the cloud of cigarette and cigar smoke, and was pleased when Tom put out his cigarette with a small cough. Hermione realized it wasn't something he appeared ready to make a habit of, but another act he put on for politicians. 

With a swish of both their wrists, they cut the cake, and Hermione bit back a smirk at Tom's surprise when the little red hearts floated out of the roses on the cake. 

They fed each other, making sure not to smear the frosting on each other's faces; in fact, Hermione heard a few of the women cooing over how nicely Tom stuck a piece of cake into her mouth, and how she did the same. As soon as they were done, however, Tom went right back to the grown men and began to schmooze some more. 

"It's alright, dear," Mrs. Malfoy assured her. "There's nothing wrong; that's how men are at weddings." 

Hermione nodded and made her way back over to the head table, sitting down with a small huff. She watched as a dark-haired man made his way up to the table, nodding to her politely as she sat up, curious as to who he was and wondering why he wasn't over with Tom. 

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" she inquired. 

"No, you wouldn't," the man replied. "My name is Percival Graves. I work for MACUSA. And I was wondering if you could make an introduction for me; I'm interested in meeting your husband." Hermione recognized the name Graves, but she couldn't figure out where she had heard it. Rising from her seat, she led Mr. Graves over to where Tom was standing. She watched as Graves whispered something in Tom's ear, and the two disappeared, walking back toward the house. 

CRASH!

Hermione jumped and turned toward the center of the room, where the beautiful arrangement of champagne glasses that filled themselves had been effectively destroyed by two familiar faces. 

"Harry?!" she exclaimed, making her way over to them. "Draco? What... how are you here?" 

The two were dusting themselves off, but looked up at her at the sound of her voice. Draco looked, as usual, indifferent. Harry, however, was visibly relieved to see that she was unharmed. In fact, he seemed somewhat surprised to see her so happy. 

"Hermione," Harry sighed, embracing her without hesitation. "You're alright." 

"I am," she assured. "And... I think... I think I might have changed things. For good. If you stick around, I can tell you later when there aren't so many people around. How did you get here?" Draco held up his father's time-turner.

"A special project funded by my father," Draco explained. "Not to save you, of course. Just one of the things you can do when you have money." Hermione simply rolled her eyes, and threw an arm around Draco's shoulder, which he grimaced at.

"Admit it, you missed me, Draco," she teased.

"I just know Weasley will stop crying and being a bloody pest when we bring you home," he muttered. Hermione started to ask about Ron, and why he wasn't with them, when Mrs. Malfoy came up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Should we have these gentlemen removed?" she inquired, shooting Harry in particular a rather stern look. 

Hermione shook her head and plastered a charming smile on her face. "Oh, no," she dismissed. "They're good friends of mine and I did not think they would be making it to the wedding. In fact, Mrs. Malfoy, if they could stay for a while? I haven't seen them in what feels like ages." 

"Of course, dear," she patted her cheek. "Where is Tom? It's getting rather late; it's about time for you two to go on off to bed."

"He went off with a gentleman who said he was from MACUSA," Hermione explained. "I was rather surprised; did you invite anyone from the States?" Mrs. Malfoy shook her head, and then it hit Hermione. She knew who Percival Graves was, or she knew who had stolen the American Auror's identity back in the twenties and used it to wreak havoc in New York City. "Oh no... Harry, Draco, if you would follow me..." She started off in the direction that Tom had gone, and began to look around, ignoring the snow that was ruining her silk shoes and the chill in the air as she searched and searched. "Tom? Where are you? Tom?! TOM!" 

"Hermione, what's wrong?" Harry questioned. Hermione could feel tears threatening to fall down her cheeks as she turned to face him. 

"I... I... How could I be so stupid?" she mumbled. "Harry, I... I think Gellert Grindelwald just kidnapped Tom. He came up to me, disguised as Percival Graves, and asked to be introduced and I led him over. I watched as they left the tent but nothing seemed amiss, and... oh, how could I let him out of my sight?" The tears started to fall, then, and she felt extremely embarrassed and out of control. And not unlike Tom, she hated to feel out of control. 

"Well, if Grindelwald has Riddle, there's only one person who can help us," Harry told Hermione. "We need to go to Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore-"

"No." Hermione interrupted. "Tom wouldn't want his help." 

"If doesn't matter, Hermione! The only man who can defeat Gellert Grindelwald is Albus Dumbledore. It has to happen. I don't care if your husband hates him. If you want to see him again, we need to go to him."

"I hate to say it, but Potter is right," Draco sighed. "And besides, the combination of Riddle and Grindelwald could become dangerous if we can't get to him first." Hermione did agree with that, so she went back into the house and changed into a pair of black woolen smoking pants and a matching turtleneck. They were the most practical clothes in her possession at the moment, and would have to do. She left a note, explaining where she was going, and hoped that they wouldn't be too long.

"Alright," she sighed. "Then let's go visit Dumbledore. I hope we're not wasting time."

*****

Hermione, Draco, and Harry apparated into Hogwarts late in the evening. She had to direct them to Dumbledore's office, where the old man was sitting, deep in thought. He was startled by their intrusion, but looked relieved at the sight of Hermione.

"Miss Granger," he greeted. "You are safe; I cannot say how relieved I am. I imagine these are your friends, Harry and... ah, this is Draco."

"I hate to be rude, professor, but we don't have time for introductions. As I'm sure you're now aware, Grindelwald has returned. And... he has Tom. He took him from Malfoy Manor; they disappeared without a trace," she explained. Dumbledore's brows furrowed and he looked her over until his gaze landed on the emerald ring on her finger. 

"And you would like your husband returned to you," he finished for her. "I suppose congratulations are in order, Mrs. Riddle. But I think you know I have no intention of confronting Gellert Grindelwald." 

"But you have to!" Harry exclaimed. "Professor, your duel with Grindelwald becomes one if the most famous duels in all of wizarding history." 

"Is that so?" Dumbledore chuckled. "My boy, I'm much too old for duels."

"Professor, please," Hermione sighed. "I promise I will never ask anything of you ever again. Just return Tom to me so we can try and live a normal life. He plans on taking a Ministry job, we want to live in a little flat in London..." Both Draco and Harry exchanged glances; they wondered if Hermione was under the influence of a love potion. It was the only thing that would make sense to them regarding her behavior. 

Dumbledore was silent for a very long time. Hermione looked down and fidgeted with her ring. She had been about to tell Tom that it reminded her of Jackie Kennedy's wedding ring, but she knew he wouldn't know who she was.

"I will help you," Dumbledore finally said. "But if I do, you must promise me that you will do everything you can to keep Tom from getting involved with Dark magic."

"I promise," Hermione swore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun! Time to find Grindelwald!
> 
> Also, check out my two other tomione fics. :)
> 
> Don't forget to comment/leave kudos


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom endures Grindelwald. Hermione and the boys go off to find Tom on their own.

His head was pounding when he sat up. All Tom remembered from the reception was cutting the wedding cake with Hermione, then going off to speak with an American fellow who had some questions about… bloody hell, he couldn't even remember what the man had said to him. Tom rubbed the side of his head and looked around; wherever the hell he was, it wasn't pretty. He felt like he was in a dungeon; dimming torches flickered on the walls, and everything was damp and dingy. Tom started to get up and moved to walk around, only to discover he was shackled to the walls by his wrists and ankles. He muttered an unlocking charm, but found that the shackles remained firmly in place. He tugged at them, slipping slightly on the wet floor and falling backward. 

“Don't try anything,” a distinctly accented voice purred. “You can't unlock those unless you have a wand. And I… have taken the liberty to relieve you of yours. Yew, Phoenix feather… truly a fine example of Ollivander’s craftsmanship.” 

Tom watched as the shadowy figure revealed himself. He recognized who he was immediately. Gellert Grindelwald was sneering at him, pale eyes dancing with mischief and madness. Tom recalled Hermione’s memory of his former future self, and how the demonic red eyes had flared with a similar madness. Of course, Grindelwald looked decidedly much better than the future self that Hermione had shown him. Still, the bowels of Nurmengard were probably the last place Tom wanted to be spending his wedding night. 

“Ah! Thinking of your lovely wife, I see?” Grindelwald chuckled. “I am so sorry to have stolen you away from your reception, but if you're compliant and reasonable I will send you back to her bed as quickly as I can.”

Tom raised a brow. He was not going to play into Grindelwald’s plots. Maybe he could even play him. It was a risky thought, but if he could just say the right things, and maybe even play into Grindelwald’s ego… maybe he could trick him. Still, Tom had to admit that Grindelwald was an exceptionally powerful wizard; he had assumed another’s identity without the use of polyjuice, and had tricked Hermione into introducing them. He knew how to play people. 

“Hermione would rather I die than work for you,” Tom argued.

“Can that really be true?” Grindelwald inquired. “I can't see how a young pregnant girl would want to go through such things without her husband.” Tom tried to hide his surprise that Grindelwald knew about the baby too. Part of him wondered if he was grasping at straws, and he decided that he would call his bluff.

“Hermione isn't pregnant,” he lied smoothly. “I don't know where you picked that up. And even if she was, she's a very resourceful, talented witch. I'm sure she would be fine.”

Grindelwald scowled and got in Tom’s face. “You're much too talented to let yourself be a waste. A Ministry man? You are far too capable in other areas to let yourself waste away behind a desk. You used to scoff at those lackeys, I believe? What made you change your mind? A girl?” Grindelwald laughed in his face and Tom resisted the urge to head-butt him. 

“A girl who showed me that making decisions like yours lead to nothing,” Tom replied. 

Grindelwald got out of his face and raised a brow. Tom could tell that he had intrigued him at the mention of Hermione’s knowledge of the future. 

“Still, boy, I could give you the power to avoid any mistakes that girl showed you,” he pointed out. “Power that would bring the wizarding world to its knees. Power that would bring… Albus Dumbledore… to his knees.” Tom was surprised; was Grindelwald really so stupid to think that he would fall for subtle hints toward his icy relationship with Dumbledore? “Ah, yes. You and my dear old friend don't have a very good relationship, do you? He doesn't take you seriously. He thinks you're up to no good. Blames you for the death of that girl in the lavatory. But he doesn't understand power, does he? Albus was always too concerned about love and loyalty to care about more important things.”

“His ideas and my own are different,” Tom admitted. “But he's a coward. And there's no joy in punishing cowards because they would never fight back.”

“So are you refusing my offer?”

“I would never work with you,” Tom spat in his face. Grindelwald recoiled and his face contorted in rage. As he pulled his wand from his robes, Tom had a vague realization that Grindelwald’s wand looked a lot like what the Elder Wand supposedly looks like. 

“Crucio!” Grindelwald shouted. 

Tom had never been hit with the Cruciatus curse before. He had only ever used it on others. His whole body felt like it was on fire, but it also felt like he was laying on a bed of nails at the same time. The pain seeped into his bones, and he was afraid they were going to shatter into millions of tiny pieces. Someone was screaming, and Tom was vaguely aware that he was the one shouting in pain. His voice was so contorted that it sounded less like a human scream and something more animalistic and primal. He understood now why people went mad from prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus curse; every inch of his body felt like it was about to break, including his mind. 

So this is it, he thought faintly. You're going to die broken and beaten on a wet stone floor in a place you don't know with a man you've never met. At least… Hermione is safe. He screamed once more, but never begged for mercy. Mercy would mean death, and Tom didn't intend to die like a dog. 

Just as Tom was sure that he was going to break, Grindelwald stopped. 

“Now what do you say?” he hissed, grabbing a fistful of Tom’s dark locks and tugging his head up to face him. Tom’s eyes were filled with tears and blood ran down from the corner of his mouth, but when his gaze met Grindelwald’s, he simply began to laugh. “What. Do. You. Say?!” 

“You'll just have to kill me,” Tom managed. Grindelwald threw him back on the ground.

“I'll be back. When I return, you best have a better answer than that,” he threatened. 

His anger confirmed one thing in particular for Tom: he wasn't going to kill him. He was too scared, and he really wanted his power. 

So he would have to survive until Hermione could find him.

*****

Draco, Harry, and Hermione struck out on their own. Dumbledore’s “help” had consisted of telling them where to find Nurmengard and warning them about the magic that Grindelwald excelled in - which was basically everything. To top things off, Hermione’s morning sickness was turning into all day sickness. She quickly confided in Draco that she was pregnant, and she swore him to secrecy not to tell Harry. He had been understanding, and promised to watch out for her if they had to duel with Grindelwald, which was slowly becoming inevitable. 

Hermione wasn't sure if they could manage to face a fully-grown wizard. Sure, Harry had faced Voldemort, and she and Draco were both extremely competent in a duel, but Grindelwald had the Elder Wand. And they didn't know what condition Tom was in, so he could be next to useless if it came down to a fight. Of course, they didn't know anything about what Tom was up to. Hermione had a fleeting suspicion that maybe he hadn't been kidnapped; that maybe at one point in his life Tom Riddle had been in contact with Gellert Grindelwald. After all, they championed similar causes. And they both had an extreme dislike of Albus Dumbledore. 

“Why couldn't we just apparate?” Malfoy huffed. They were hiking through Germany, trying their best to avoid any Nazis or Grindelwald supporters. 

Harry rolled his eyes. “I doubt that Grindelwald has weak wards. If we tried to apparate, we would be captured and thrown into a cell. And from what I understand, Nurmengard is not the kind of place you want to spend the night.” Hermione winced and felt her stomach clench. She stopped and ventured into the woods a bit before being sick yet again. She cursed herself for forgetting her anti-nausea potions. “Hermione? This is the third time just today! What's wrong?” She could tell that he was somewhat suspicious.

“I'm perfectly fine!” she shouted from her position by a tall tree. “Just a minute!” She wiped her face and staggered back onto their path. Draco nodded to her and she nodded back; he consulted an enchanted map that Dumbledore had given to them. 

“I think we’re getting close,” he mumbled. “Or… maybe not. Perhaps we should make camp for the night and continue on in the morning.”

Hermione agreed and pulled out her beaded bag - she had remembered to bring it after Tom had delivered it to her when he arrived from school. Using a summoning charm, she brought out the tent she, Harry, and Ron had spent many a night in while hunting horcruxes. And even though it seemed so long ago, it was strange to think that not only had those events not happened yet, but that they might not ever happen. While Draco and Harry set to pitching the tent, she raised their wards around it, and summoned a dustbin from her bag for herself. 

They all began to settle in for the night once everything was secure. Hermione had gotten into her pajamas when Harry walked over to her, a serious expression on his face. 

“Hermione, I know something is wrong. You're never sick,” he said. 

She glanced up at him. Hermione longed to tell him; he was her best friend, after all, and unlike Ron he hadn't been so cross as to willingly leave her back in time because of some things she had done. She knew deep down that Harry wouldn't be upset with her; not really, at least. Confused, perhaps, but never mad.

“Harry… well, you see… for as proper as Tom and I did everything while getting married, there was one thing we kind of… jumped the gun on. I slept with him. Twice. And the second time I forgot to use a contraception charm…”

Harry’s eyes brightened in realization. “You're pregnant! With… With Tom Riddle’s child!” he exclaimed. And then he was quiet for a moment as he sat down on his cot. “That… That means you probably don't want to come back to our time, do you?” Hermione hesitated before nodding. “And you're sure he's changed? He hasn't just used the Imperius curse on you?” 

“I can't guarantee he's changed completely. But I believe he will not become the man we knew. And no, Harry, he has not put any curses or hexes on me,” she rolled her eyes.

Harry seemed to accept her answer and threw an arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him, her mind drifting to Tom. For all they knew, he could be dead. But a strong part of Hermione doubted that Grindelwald would kill him. She imagined that Gellert Grindelwald wanted to use Tom and his young, powerful magic to further his cause. And if Tom returned to England, he would be a voice for Grindelwald’s movement; a young, handsome spokesman for a questionable cause. A perfect weapon. Hermione still hated herself for accidentally leading Grindelwald to Tom; if she had asked more questions, if she had pried, perhaps he wouldn't have gotten away with it. 

“When are you due?” Harry inquired, drawing her from her thoughts. Hermione smiled slightly and rested her hand on her stomach.

“Well, I've got about eight months to go,” Hermione replied. “So… August? I am honestly a little nervous; the thought of childbirth…” she shuddered slightly. Since finding out about her pregnancy, Hermione had been reading up on magical childbirth. Compared to muggle childbirth, it was painfully outdated. Some pureblood witches still used birthing chairs, even, and the only time a child is delivered at St. Mungo’s is if it is a serious emergency that the midwives can't handle. It was in direct contrast to how Hermione had been born, in the delivery room of a muggle hospital. 

“I'm sure you will do wonderfully,” Harry assured. “If there's anyone strong enough to bring a child into the world, it’s you. Compared to some of the other things you've done, it will seem like nothing.” Hermione agreed; she imagined nothing could be worse than the Cruciatus curse.

As it grew darker, they all settled into bed. Hermione thought sadly about how she and Tom should have been spending the rest of winter break in bed, his arms wrapped lazily around her. The thought brought tears to her eyes and Hermione cursed her pregnancy hormones for making her over-emotional. She had fought for so long to try and keep herself from developing feelings for one Tom Riddle, but now… she couldn't stand to be apart from him. It pained her to admit it, but she had… feelings for him. Strong feelings. 

Hermione tried to reason with herself for a moment or two; she surmised that it was perfectly normal to have strong feelings for the first man you slept with, and on top of that Tom was the father of her unborn child. It was perfectly logical that she would miss him.

But Hermione knew she was just fooling herself.

Even though she knew deep down that he wasn't capable of reciprocating true love (which was what she feared the really did feel for him), she felt like she had accomplished something no one had ever tried with him: she had shown affection toward him, and rewarded him for being more than a terror and a bully. From what she understood, Dumbledore had always theorized that if Tom Riddle had been shown some affection in his life that he wouldn't have become Lord Voldemort. And while Hermione imagined that he had meant for Riddle to be loved and nurtured as a child, Hermione felt that what she had given him had the same effect. 

And when she had told him she was pregnant… he had been so nervous, so sweet, and so determined that she felt deep down that he would love her and the baby in his own way. It would be foolish of her to think that Tom Riddle would be the kind of father who cried when the child was born and snuggled with the baby; perhaps he would read to them, and likely spoil them rotten, but he likely wouldn't be one for tickle fights and bedtime kisses. Still, he would be dutiful and protective; that much was certain.

Because when she imagined their child - usually a little boy in her dreams, despite both she and Tom’s desire for a daughter - with his beautiful hair and her own eyes, zooming around the gardens of a private park on a little toy broom… her heart swelled with pride. He would be good with a boy, she thought. A daughter would likely manipulate him much too easily. It almost made her laugh.

“We’ll get him back,” she murmured to her stomach. “I promise.”

*****

Tom was beginning to lose track of the days. Grindelwald was doing an excellent job of trying to break him, using both muggle and magic techniques of interrogation and whatnot to try and wear him down. After their first encounter, Grindelwald had held off on the Cruciatus curse; instead, he opted for other physically traumatizing experiences. Drowning, burning… one of Grindelwald’s men even took a knife to his skin, carving the word “traitor” in ugly, jagged letters into his arm. 

He heard footsteps approaching and pretended to still be asleep. Since his arrival, Tom had developed a basic sense of the layout of Nurmengard’s dungeon; the entrance was off to his right somewhere, around a corner. 

“Pretending to be asleep, I see?” Grindelwald hummed. “That won't do.” 

Tom jolted awake at the sudden, powerful blast of water that took his breath away. He coughed, trying to expel any water from his lungs, only to be blasted again. The water was icy cold, and stung like a thousand tiny daggers on his skin. Still, he said nothing. He didn't complain, didn't cry, didn’t shout; Tom would not give Gellert Grindelwald the pleasure of seeing him break. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction. 

“I heard a delightful rumor yesterday,” Grindelwald purred after ending his onslaught. “I heard that one Albus Dumbledore is on his way here, to fight to have you released.” 

“I doubt it,” Tom dismissed, though part of him was wondering if it was true. He knew Hermione would have probably gone to him after he disappeared, as in her own time Dumbledore had been the one to defeat Gellert Grindelwald. “He doesn't like me, remember?” Grindelwald tsk’d and got in Tom’s face, grinning evilly.

“Ah, but he likes your little wife,” he reminded. “I'm sure if she went back to Hogwarts in tears, telling her sad little story about her husband who was taken from her on their wedding night… well, the compassionate old fool wouldn't be able to resist.” Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes; the hubris of Grindelwald was almost laughable. 

“Dumbledore has more important things to deal with,” Tom scoffed. “Besides, I'm sure Hermione wouldn't bother going to him.”

This didn't satisfy Grindelwald, and threw a stinging hex at Tom’s face. It burned, but compared to the Cruciatus curse it was nothing. He twitched slightly, but didn't react beyond that. Tom hoped that if he got out of Nurmengard alive that he would receive some praise from the Ministry for facing Grindelwald and being his captive and living to tell the tale. 

“So you're saying that stupid girl-“

“Don't ever call her that,” Tom hissed. Grindelwald’s brows quirked upward and Tom cursed himself for letting him strike a nerve. 

“Why? It's rather true. She was stupid enough to lead me to you. I can't believe some used to consider her the brightest witch of her age; she's no better than those insipid little pureblood girls who get married off as soon as they're done with their education,” he mused. “Though you even ruined that for her, didn't you? Stealing her away like a modern Hades and Persephone. She must have… despised you for that, didn't she? I can't even imagine.”

“Hermione and I are fine,” Tom said. “I have no doubt that I will be seeing her again soon.”

Grindelwald simply chuckled and turned his back on Tom, walking out of the dungeon and leaving him in the dark, all alone. Tom didn't mind; it left him to his thoughts and also allowed him to put the knowledge he had taken from Grindelwald’s mind to use. Gellert Grindelwald was a skilled Occlumens, but not when he was busy taunting someone. It was something Tom had figured out early during his stay, and he had learned the spell that would unlock his shackles. It did require a wand, much to his dismay, but if someone got to him he was ready to be freed. 

Still, someone would have to get to Nurmengard and make it past Grindelwald to even get to him. And that was a task that Tom doubted even Dumbledore was up for. 

*****

When they finally approached Nurmengard, Hermione had never felt more nervous in her entire life, and she had lived through an entire wizarding war. The fortress was foreboding and intimidating, and she wasn't sure how they were even going to get through the door. True to nature, Harry pulled out his wand and led the way. Draco followed suit, and Hermione brought up the rear, holding her wand tightly. Much to her surprise, no alarms went off when they set foot on the grounds. 

“I've got a bad feeling about this,” Hermione whispered. Draco huffed and turned around to her.

“Now is not the time to be quoting muggle movies, Granger. We need to…” Just then, a blast of red zoomed right past Draco’s left side, and he cursed. They all turned see three of Grindelwald’s supporters chasing after them and yelling in German. Hermione threw a stinging hex at them as they started to try and find cover. 

Draco threw some darker spells at them, which hit one of the supporters in the chest, leaving the man incapacitated. Harry blocked a few curses, and Hermione stepped toward the supporter facing Harry and took a deep breath.

“Sectumsempra!” she yelled. The spell was even stronger than it had been the day she'd used it on Tom in Defence class, and the other man collapsed, bleeding onto the lawn. His cohort seemed shocked, and ran off, likely to get more backup. “Let's get inside before they come back.” The boys nodded, both shocked that Hermione would dare to use such a spell. 

Inside, they saw the truth of Grindelwald’s campaign. His message was failing. Hermione imagined that even without Dumbledore facing him that his movement only had months left before it fell apart. Kidnapping Tom, she realized, was a last-ditch attempt to try and hang onto power in the wizarding community. The halls were all but deserted, and Hermione ventured off in what appeared to be the direction of the dungeons. Harry and Draco followed her, keeping an eye on their surroundings. 

When she saw him, her heart caught in her throat. He was bruised and bloody, but it was still him. The smell around him was stale yet pungent, but she didn't care. He was alive. He was okay, more or less. And they would be taking him away from there as soon as possible.

“Tom!” she exclaimed, running over to him and cradling his face in her hands. His right eye was nearly swollen shut, and his bottom lip was split; he also was sporting a rather nasty gash above his eyebrow. “We’re going to get you out of here. My friends, from the future, are here and they're going to help.” She tried to unlock his shackles and cursed. “How do we get you out of here?” Tom whispered the spell in her ear and Hermione nodded, casting it quickly and sighing in relief when the shackles fell to the ground. She threw her arms around him then, and he grunted in slight pain. 

“I knew you'd find me,” he murmured. “But we need to go. Now. Before he comes back.”

“Can you walk?” Hermione asked as she slowly helped him to his feet. He was steadier than she thought he would be. “What did they…” 

And then she saw his arm, with the crude carvings that so matched her own. Her stomach clenched; it was so terrifying to see something that had been done to her so fresh and new on his flawless skin.

“We need to go,” he repeated, his voice already firmer than it had been moments before. “Listen to me, Hermione. We. Need. To. Go.” She nodded and took his hand. They started to make their way up the stairs, with Tom between her, Harry, and Draco. 

The four of them reached the main hallway and turned toward the front door. Hermione’s heart was pounding in her chest. They were so close. Just a few more feet and they would never have to think about Nurmengard ever again, let alone Gellert Grindelwald. Dumbledore would eventually duel him in a few months, and Grindelwald would be imprisoned in the very same place he had kept Tom. It was poetic justice at its finest; not even William Shakespeare could pen something so perfect. The front door was just out of reach when a low chuckle sounded from behind them.

“The girl from the future come to save her husband. I've been waiting for you to join us, Hermione Granger.”


	12. Chapter 12

Hermione’s grip on her wand tightened at the sound of Grindelwald’s voice. He chuckled, noticing just how tense she was. “Don't be afraid, little mudblood,” he purred. “You just might be useful. I'm trying to get your husband to join my cause, you see, but he's rather stubborn. Perhaps you could convince him for me?” Tom started toward him, and Grindelwald sneered, throwing the Cruciatus curse at Hermione instead.

“Hermione!” Tom and Harry both shouted. Harry went to try and disarm Grindelwald, while Tom—still without a wand—returned to his orphanage days for a moment as his fist connected with Grindelwald’s jaw. The distraction was enough to stop the curse, and Tom wrestled Grindelwald to the floor. 

Draco was in shock. Never, in all his years, had he ever imagined he would see the Dark Lord tackle Gellert Grindelwald to the ground.

As soon as Tom found his own wand in Grindelwald’s breast pocket, however, he climbed off of him and held his wand in his face. “One move and I kill you,” he threatened. Grindelwald laughed and got up slowly to his feet. 

“That's highly unlikely, my boy, as you see… I have the Elder wand in my possession. You can't win,” Grindelwald cackled. “The odds are not in your favor.” 

Tom’s lips quirked up in a small smirk. “That's never stopped me before.”

Harry and Hermione stared in awe as the duel began. She was still twitchy from the Cruciatus, but she had gotten to her feet. Tom was undeniably brilliant; he was holding his own against a wizard far older. In fact… it seemed as if he was winning. Curses and hexes flew through the air, and Draco tried to get Harry and Hermione to take cover, but their Gryffindor bravery got in the way. And Hermione knew that if something were to go wrong… she would step in to help him. 

Until a stray curse flew through the air and hit her square in the stomach. 

She crumpled immediately, grabbing her stomach and groaning in pain. Whatever the spell had been, it triggered extreme pain in her abdomen that felt like terrible menstrual cramps. 

“Expelliarmus,” Tom shouted, unaware of Hermione’s predicament. The Elder wand sailed through the air and into his hand. Grindelwald cowered then; never in a million years had he expected to get bested by a boy who was barely a man. He watched as Tom turned around to Hermione, who was on her knees, in tears. Part of him registered that she had been hit by a stray curse, and then he just stopped thinking. Tom turned back to Grindelwald sharply and held the Elder wand up. “Crucio!” 

The older man writhed and screamed, but Tom’s expression remained stony. 

Draco and Harry were at Hermione's side; Draco knew what was wrong as he had seen his own mother go through something similar before. 

“It's a miscarriage,” Draco mumbled. “We've got to get her out of here now.” Harry nodded and he tried to help Hermione to her feet. She got up unsteadily, and the three of them looked at Tom. Grindelwald was nearly lifeless on the floor, and still Tom showed no remorse, but no joy either. 

“Tom…” Hermione said weakly.

His shoulders tensed and he stopped the curse. Tom turned back around and pocketed the Elder wand. Just as he did, a squad of Aurors burst through the front doors. In the chaos, Hermione got separated from him and taken off to St. Mungo's so they could gauge the damage from the stray curse. Tom, meanwhile, was taken away by the Aurors who arrested Grindelwald and apparated the both of them to the Ministry.

*****

The healers at St. Mungo’s whisked Hermione away as soon as they arrived. They helped her into a gown and Hermione was terrified at all the blood that had soaked her clothes.

“Oh dear…” one of them muttered as they started to work on helping her through the miscarriage. Hermione winced when they touched her stomach, and bit back a cry of pain. She heard the Healer mumble a spell that was supposed to ease her pain until the bleeding stopped. It didn't do much, but it did enough that she could sit up and ask for her friends. 

Harry and Draco came in first. Harry had a bunch of wildflowers in his hand, and transfigured a glass beside her bed into a vase for them.

“How are you?” Draco asked, looking genuinely concerned. “I… I've seen my mum go through a miscarriage. It's bloody, nasty business.” Hermione was surprised by his genuine nature in that moment and managed a smile. 

“The bleeding’s all but done,” she told him. “Still hurts a bit, but… but I'll be fine. Where's Tom?”

“Young Mr. Riddle will likely be hounded by the Prophet for the next few days,” a familiar voice stated from the entrance to the room. Hermione looked to see none other than Professor Dumbledore standing there, dressed in burgundy robes and looking very much like he did in the nineties. “You all will likely become very busy, which will make returning to your own time very difficult for all of you.” Draco and Harry exchanged looks; that was the last thing they wanted to hear. Besides, they had the time-turner. 

“I'm not sure Tom would ever let me out of his sight long enough for me to return,” Hermione laughed. “He’ll… He’ll be especially concerned now, considering.”

“The loss of a child is always difficult,” Dumbledore agreed. “But, if I heard the healers correctly, you were not terribly affected and will be able to have children in the future.” Hermione felt relieved, and sat back in the pillows with a sigh. “However, it also came to my attention that your husband now possesses the Elder wand. You know what a danger that could be.” She saw Harry nodding in agreement out of the corner of her eye and she sighed.

“He won't give it up willingly,” she pointed out softly. “Best let me keep trying to make him better, to make him good.”

“Are you sure it's possible, Hermione?” Draco asked incredulously. “I know you've seen him in action, but I had to live with him. He… He’s twisted, Hermione. Absolutely mental. And I have no doubt that those roots run deep.” Though his grandfather’s diary didn't paint as mad a picture, he had to admit.

“You knew him after he made seven horcruxes,” Hermione reminded. “He hasn't done that.”

“Yet,” Harry grumbled. “Just come home with us, Hermione. You'll be safe with us. The war is over, and you'll never have to worry about anything ever again. Besides, I'm sure Ron will be happy to see you.” Hermione tried not to roll her eyes; she highly doubted Ron would be happy to see her since he hadn't even bothered to come on their rescue mission to bring her back. 

“At least stay until Tom arrives,” she said to him and Draco. 

“Of course,” they agreed.

*****

Tom arrived late, almost midnight. He seemed about ready to succumb to his exhaustion, and Hermione scooted over in her hospital bed to make room for him. The healers were refusing to let her go until the following morning because her miscarriage had been spell-related. She curled up against him, resting her head on his chest. He ran a hand through her hair absentmindedly, and hummed softly to himself.

“The reporters finally released you from their grasp?” she teased softly. Harry and Draco were asleep in the two chairs in the room. Tom chuckled and held her closer.

“Very reluctantly,” he murmured. 

Hermione sighed and felt her eyelids growing heavier. They would talk in the morning, she decided; there was no point in discussing what had happened when they were both tired and in need of a good night’s sleep. She breathed in the smell of him, and began to fall asleep.

When she woke, the healers were scrambling around to get her ready to leave, and were also trying to get Tom to let them examine his various wounds and bruises from his time with Grindelwald. Of course, he refused them all and waited for Hermione to get dressed to leave. Dumbledore was waiting for them when they walked out of the room, and began to speak to the both of them.

“Now that the little disappearing act is through, I think it would only be fair for Miss Granger to return to Hogwarts to finish out the school year. Don't you, Mr. Riddle?” he raised a brow.

Hermione looked at Tom hopefully and he nodded. “Of course, professor,” he agreed.

The three of them returned to Hogwarts, and when Hermione walked into the Ravenclaw common room she was greeted by Farina and her other Ravenclaw classmates. She was so pleased to return that she barely recalled how Draco and Harry had left quickly that morning before Tom woke up. The time-turner in her pocket was heavy; a reminder of their departure. Draco had given her a duplicate of his own time-turner, lest she ever wanted to return home. 

But Hermione wasn't sure where home was anymore.

“Hermione Granger, where have you been?” Farina inquired. Hermione blushed and held up her left hand. “No! Who?”

“Tom,” she admitted with a blush. 

Every girl in the common room reacted in a different way, either squealing or cringing at the thought of being married to Tom Riddle.

“I knew that was going to happen,” Farina said. “I saw it, remember?” 

Hermione just smiled and made her way up to the dormitory. She longed to spend the night with Tom; they hadn't really been alone together since before their wedding and his kidnapping. He would be on his rounds that night, she knew, so she could creep out and find him, but she didn't want to risk running into the Head Girl or another Prefect. 

And even though her friends were back in their own time… she was home. Hogwarts would always be her home.

*****

21 May, 1945

Before Hermione knew it, it was time for the Leavers’ Ball. She had been so busy trying to catch up on her classes—something that proved not to be too difficult—and balancing time with Tom, the next thing she knew the ball was a week away. She and Tom were sitting in the library together when she brought it up, closing her charms textbook and glancing at him.

“The Leavers’ Ball is next week,” she mumbled. He looked up at her, his wire-rimmed glasses low on his nose. 

“I'm well aware of when the ball is,” he told her. “What about it?”

“Don't you want to go? It's one of the few dances we ever have here at Hogwarts, and I… I thought we ought to go. Since we didn't get to dance at our wedding?” Tom took his glasses off then and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. 

“Why would you want to go to that stupid thing? It’s just an excuse for our classmates to get drunk and have sex in the bushes with their dates,” he stated. 

“You're Head Boy. Aren't you obliged to go?”

“I don't have to go to anything I don't want to go to,” Tom huffed. 

“You're acting like a child!”

“Really? You're the one whining about a stupid dance!”

Hermione huffed and stewed quietly in her chair for a moment or so until she decided to try and upset him. “Fine then! I'll just ask Abraxas to take me instead!” she exclaimed, getting up from their table and scooping her books into her arms. Tom grit his teeth and got to his feet, following her out of the library. He still had his glasses on, which was a strange concept for Hermione. She had never seen him wear them before. They were married and she was still learning lots about him. 

“You would rather that great klutz spend the night stomping on your toes than spend your evening with me?” he hissed, grabbing her wrist and pulling her against him.

“Maybe! At least he will want to go…” she grumbled, avoiding his gaze. Tom chuckled and placed a finger under her chin, tilting her head up to look at him. His lips brushed against hers and Hermione sighed. 

“Will it make you happy if I take you to the dance?” he murmured. Hermione nodded.

“Very much so,” she breathed, looking up at him through her lashes. Tom grinned slightly and kissed her slowly, wrapping his arms around her. 

“No public displays of affection!” Peeves cackled as he appeared over them. “Tommy Riddle and his little wife need to go somewhere a bit more… private.” He chuckled and floated away, singing some playground song about trees and kissing. Hermione blushed.

“Then we’ll go,” Tom promised. “I promise.”

*****

2 June, 1945

Hermione stared at her reflection in the floor-length mirror in the girls’ dormitory and smiled a bit. She knew Tom would like the dress; it was a floor-length, dark green silk evening gown with delicate silver and gold embroidery on the bodice. It was nothing like her wedding gown, which had been innocent and sweet and left much to the imagination. Instead, her Leavers’ Ball gown clung to her until just above her knees where it flared out, and it was strapless, showing off her arms and her slender shoulders. Her hair was piled high atop her head, showing off her neck.

When she left the dormitory, Tom was waiting for her in the common room. He was in black dress robes, with a stiff white shirt and black bow tie. He turned around to see her and a small smile appeared on his face. 

“You look…”

“Perfect?” Hermione supplied, trying to hide her amusement. Tom laughed and took her hand. It was a real laugh, she noted; since defeating Grindelwald he had been much happier. 

“I was going to say beautiful, but you know how I feel about perfection,” he said. Tom offered her his arm and they made their way down to the Great Hall. It was decorated like a dream—A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Tom would remark (he enjoyed Shakespeare, Hermione soon learned)—and it almost made up for the fact that Hermione would never have her own Leavers’ Ball in her own time.

As per tradition, the Head Boy and Head Girl and their dates would begin the dance. Hermione felt nervous; she didn't even know if Tom could dance. But when she recognized the waltz from the Yule Ball, she felt relieved. If all else failed, she could take the lead. 

But, of course, he was ridiculously good at dancing too, and they glided around the floor with the other couple. 

Druella Rosier joined in with her date when the others did; she passed Hermione and winked at her. Hermione took that as confirmation that either she looked good or she was doing well with Tom. Either way, some part of her was relieved deep down. They danced nearly every dance with the traditional string quartet, and when they finished and the big band was getting set up, Tom went to get them both a cup of punch. Hermione sat down in a nearby chair and watched as the other couples chatted and ate. Tom returned with two cups of punch and some cake; the punch had been spiked, they both noted, and the cake wasn't nearly as good as their wedding cake had been. 

“After this, I'm taking you to the Room of Requirement and fucking you raw,” he whispered in her ear.

“Merlin, what did they put in this punch?” Hermione laughed, trying to hide how aroused she had become at the very thought. Before long, the big band started to play. Hermione recognized some muggle music that her grandparents used to tell her about dancing to, and she grabbed Tom’s hand. “Come on, let's dance.” She charmed her dress so the skirt was fuller and made it easier for her to move; it hadn't been in her way during the traditional ballroom dances, but now that they had to swing dance… well, she didn't want to fall flat on her face. Tom seemed a little on edge as they reached the floor and she smiled. “What? Haven't you learned to swing dance?” Hermione herself had taken lessons as a girl. 

“Not really. The only time I've ever seen swing dance is in muggle movies,” he admitted. 

“Then just copy that,” she told him. “And if all else fails, just follow the music.”

The floor was filled with mainly half-blood and muggleborn students like Hermione and Tom. After losing a bit of his tentativeness, Tom figured out how to dance well enough. “Just pretend you're Fred Astaire,” Hermione laughed. Apparently that name registered, and Tom scowled a bit at her as he spun her. “Are you sure you haven't done this before?”

“I might have had Druella give me a few tips,” Tom admitted. 

As the night began to come to an end, the big band began to play slower songs. Tom wrapped his arms around her waist, and Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck as they moved slowly in a circle. She pressed her forehead against his, and smiled dreamily. 

“I’d say this more than makes up for missing our first dance at the wedding reception,” she whispered. 

“I would agree,” Tom murmured, stealing a kiss before Professor Dumbledore, who was merrily chaperoning, could turn around and see. “Of course, we never got around to consummating our marriage…” his hand started to wander lower before Slughorn noticed and gave him a look.

“Plenty of time for that when school’s over, Mr. Riddle,” he scolded drunkenly. 

“Yes, professor,” Tom muttered. Hermione chuckled and watched as the band finished the last song. They separated and Tom offered her his arm, leading her upstairs to the Room of Requirement. “I'll come up with something,” he assured as he closed his eyes. Sure enough, a door appeared and they entered together. Hermione smiled; he'd conjured up a cozy bedroom with a four poster bed and a fireplace, which was crackling merrily. Even though it was June, the castle tended toward being a bit chilly. 

“Mm,” Hermione hummed as she took off her shoes and sat down on the bed. Tom joined her, taking her hand. He brushed his lips over her knuckles, and she sighed. “Tom… does it bother you when I call you by your given name?” She noticed how his eye twitched slightly.

“Hermione… you must understand that I will never be a good man. Not like your friend Harry, or even that Draco boy,” he said. “But… you've shown me how wrong everything my future holds as Lord Voldemort is. I'm not saying that I will become like Dumbledore, a beacon of light. But know that anything bad I might do will be… be to protect you. To protect us. To do what's best for us.” Hermione still didn't like it, but she knew she had been living in a sort of grey area since the war. And if she could get Tom Riddle to do the same… it would be quite the accomplishment.

“I… I love you, Tom,” she told him. And she meant it. 

He seemed taken aback. Hermione realized that no one had probably ever told him that before. His eyelashes fluttered, and she cupped his face in her hands. 

“You don't have to say it back,” she assured him. “I know it must be hard for you.” He nodded, and kissed her gently on the lips. His tenderness was surprising, and she smiled into the kiss. Feeling his arms wrap around her, Hermione moved to straddle him. 

Her dress was soon forgotten on the floor, as were his dress robes. Tom was eagerly licking and sucking at her clit, trying to show her that even though he couldn't say those damned words that he cared for her very deeply. Hermione came at least once before he kissed his way up her body, his tongue peeping up to taste her as he did so. She hummed and tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling Tom up to kiss her as she spread her legs further for him. 

“Hermione,” he rasped as he eased his cock inside her. He'd forgotten just how good she felt.

“Take your time,” she smiled, kissing him slowly as he began to roll his hips steadily against her own. “Oh… that's it… Tom… Tom, please…” Hermione moaned and met his thrusts, whimpering as he began to pick up the pace. She could feel the tightness building in her stomach, and she reached down between them to rub her clit, trying to find some relief. 

Tom groaned when she came, tightening around him as she cried out. He grit his teeth and gave another thrust or two before spilling his seed inside of her. As he pulled out and laid down on the other side of the bed, Hermione rolled on her side and propped herself up on her elbow. 

“And to think you didn't even want to go to the Leavers’ Ball,” she teased him. 

“I would do anything to make you happy,” he swore intensely. Hermione smiled and watched as he got out of bed, her gaze lingering on his ass as he opened a drawer in the room and drew a silver knife from it. “I've been thinking… and we are bonded as man and wife in the legal sense. But there is no magical bond between us, and that's what counts, in my opinion.” He offered the knife to her, along with his forearm that wasn't scarred. 

“Is this Dark magic?” she murmured. Tom smirked and she got her answer. “Tom—“

“Do it,” he encouraged. Hermione looked at his arm and then at the knife. Her hand trembled slightly as she nicked the skin, watching as droplets of ruby red blood beaded there. She handed the knife back to him and he nicked her unmarked arm as well. He then grabbed that arm by the elbow and held their bleeding limbs together. Tom murmured some ancient language and Hermione watched in awe as glowing bands of gold began to encircle their arms. His chant became more and more intense, and the bands shone brighter and brighter until the ritual came to an end. 

In place of the cut in her arm, a small golden “T” was there instead. On Tom’s arm, a golden “H” shined softly on his pale skin. 

“If we are ever separated and in need of the other, all we need to do is touch the letter,” he explained to her. “It's a magical tattoo, of sorts. I've been researching them.” Hermione tried not to snort. In another time, he would use that magic to put Dark Marks on his supporters. Instead, he used it as a way to connect himself to his wife.

“What constitutes being in need of each other?” Hermione inquired. 

“Perhaps I’m bored at work and I need a little… attention,” he grinned, leaning over and nipping at her bottom lip. “Or someone tries to corner you in an alleyway and you need your husband to come and kill them. Things like that.” Hermione frowned.

“What if I'm horny?” she raised a brow. Tom was surprised to see her use such a phrase.

“What if you're… what?” he asked incredulously. Hermione smirked and began to stroke him, grinning even wider as he responded to her touch. “I suppose… that would be perfectly fine. I certainly wouldn't complain.” 

“Good,” Hermione said. His cock was throbbing in her hand, and she cautiously licked her lips before licking up the underside of his length curiously. Tom’s eyes were fixed on her as she then swirled her tongue around the head of his cock, working his length with her hand as she unhurriedly took him into her mouth. 

“Oh fuck…” Tom groaned. There was something about the word coming from his mouth that was undeniably dirty and vulgar and it urged Hermione on to start bobbing her head as confidently as she could. He grabbed her hair and began to thrust into her mouth instead, making her gag on his cock. Hermione was worried that he would be disappointed in her lack of experience, but the sensation only seemed to turn him on more. “Hermione… oh… shit… I’m gonna…” Tom forced her to take him as deep as she could when he came, his seed spilling down her throat. He groaned as she licked him clean before pulling away.

“I was going to try that on our wedding night,” she blushed. “Did you like it?”

“You… are amazing,” he purred. They curled up in bed together, and drifted off, finally feeling as if everything was right with the world.


	13. Chapter 13

Two Years Later

The estate agent shifted awkwardly on her heels as she watched the young woman take one more turn around the parlor of the townhouse. She had a one-year-old on her hip, and the estate agent felt that she was a little too young to have a baby, but she didn't say a thing. “How much is the rent again?” the woman asked, turning to face her. 

“Fifty pounds a week, ma'am,” the realtor replied. Hermione frowned; they could afford the conversion, of course. Tom’s Ministry job paid very well. But she didn't like paying that much, even for a home in a good neighborhood.

“And can the price be negotiated at all?” Hermione raised a brow. 

“I'm afraid not, ma'am.” The estate agent looked at Hermione to the baby, whose big dark eyes were watching her curiously. “He's a handsome little thing,” she complimented. Hermione relaxed and her negotiation mindset left a bit. “What's his name?”

“Arthur,” Hermione told her. Upon hearing his name, Arthur squealed and babbled excitedly, bouncing in his mother's arms. Hermione chuckled softly and stroked his cheek. Her more calm and guarded demeanor returned to her and she sighed. “I think we are going to take it. Give me a day to talk it over with my husband?” She knew Tom really wouldn't care; all he wanted was for Hermione to feel like they were raising Arthur in a good part of town. She'd even convinced him to let her enroll Arthur in a muggle primary school when he reached school age. 

“Yes, ma'am,” the estate agent said. The two made their way back out onto the sidewalk and parted ways. Hermione made her way back to Diagon Alley; she and Tom currently resided in a flat over a shop, and while it was nice enough for just the two of them, they both agreed that it would be too small as Arthur grew. 

Arthur started to squirm to be put down as soon as they crossed the threshold into the flat and she obliged him, watching as he toddled off to play with his toys. 

“Mumma?” he toddled back over to her and tugged on her sleeve. Hermione looked at him and smiled. Arthur looked very much like his father; same dark wavy hair, same pretty hazel eyes, and delicate face. 

“Yes, love?” 

Arthur pointed at his toys and tugged her sleeve again, obviously demanding that she play with him. It was yet another trait he shared with his father: a demanding personality. Still, Hermione obliged him and moved to sit on the floor, picking up one of his favorite toys—a stuffed owl—and moving it around the floor. Arthur grabbed his other favorite, a stuffed green snake, and hissed aloud. Hermione still wasn't used to the fact that her son was a parselmouth, but thus far nothing bad had come of it. Tom said that most of what he said in the tongue was equivalent to the cooing and giggling that he was saying to her, so it wouldn't attract anything.

Like clockwork, Tom breezed through the door at five-thirty. He took off his work robe and loosened his tie, and smiled at the sight of Arthur, who was now asleep among his toys. 

“He's worn out,” he noted. Hermione nodded.

“He's had a busy day,” she stated. “We went to look at the house. It's very nice. Fifty pounds a week for rent, though. Do you think we can handle that?” Tom ran a hand through his hair and sat back in his chair. 

“I think so, considering I was promoted today,” he grinned. Hermione raised a brow; in less than a year he had become the Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic. That had been impressive enough, and had helped their Gringotts account grow exponentially. “You are looking at the new Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic.” There was a silence between them as Hermione stared at him. “I believe the typical response would be that of ‘congratulations.’” 

“Congratulations!” she exclaimed. “Tom… Tom, that is great news! How did you get the promotion?” Hermione knew he had done a dirty thing or two to move up the ladder, but she tried her best not to judge him. As far as she knew, he hadn't killed anyone for his jobs—thankfully.

“A rather nasty rumor about the former Undersecretary turned to be rather true,” he hummed. “Admitted it after a little… veritaserum. Needless to say, he was forced to resign.”

“You… You slipped your coworker some veritaserum?” Hermione asked incredulously.

“Right before he was set to have lunch with the Minister himself,” Tom picked at his fingernails absentmindedly before noticing the disapproving look on Hermione’s face. “What? You didn't seem so disapproving a moment ago when I told you we would be able to afford to rent the home you want. Merlin, we could probably buy it if we really wanted.” He reached into his breast pocket of his jacket and procured a pack of cigarettes, sticking one in his mouth. Hermione quickly took it out and threw it at him.

“Not in the house!” she scolded. Tom got to his feet and held the cigarette between his thumb and index finger. “I've told you how bad that is for Arthur to inhale secondhand smoke!” They hadn't really fought since school, but she imagined they were probably due; there was no way she and Tom were capable of being the “perfect couple.”

“I will do what I want! I pay the rent!” he retorted. 

“Then you'll sleep on the couch.” Hermione’s gaze on him was cold and steely. She watched as he lit the cigarette and took a quick draw from it. “Very well, then.” She stormed into their bedroom and grabbed his pillows and returned to the little sitting room, throwing them onto the couch. “There. I hope you enjoy your cigarette.” Arthur woke up then, snuffling slightly and rubbing his eyes with his little fists.

“Mumma…” he mumbled. Hermione quickly went over to him, picking him up and holding him at her hip. She bit back a frown at how his little eyes lit up at the sight of his father. “Dada!”

Tom put out his cigarette in the same ashtray he'd gotten at his stag party, and strode over to where Hermione stood with Arthur in her arms. He held his hands out and Arthur reached for him. With a sigh, Hermione handed him over. It was the one thing she had decided when Arthur was born; she would never try to use Arthur as a bartering tool, or use him against Tom. She had seen parents do that before, and it was always messy. 

“How's daddy’s boy today?” Tom asked as he sat on the sofa with Arthur on his lap. Arthur began to babble at him in a mix of normal baby-talk and parseltongue. 

Hermione found herself hoping that at least one of their children wouldn't receive the surprisingly dominant trait as she disappeared into the kitchen to try and put together supper. A few charms later, a pot of vegetable soup was being stirred on the stove and ready to be served. Arthur’s meal was similar to their own; manageable bites of the stew meat from the soup, carrots, and a helping of mashed potatoes, which were his favorite. Hermione poured milk into a sippy cup—something she'd had Harry bring her through time when Arthur had been done nursing. 

Tom carried Arthur in and put him in his highchair. Arthur banged his hands on the little table at the sight of his food and Hermione bit back a laugh. 

“There you go, love,” she said as she placed the plate down. 

Tom moved past her into the kitchen to pour his own bowl of soup, sitting down in his seat without saying a word. Hermione grit her teeth and did the same, sitting across from him at their little square dining room table. Arthur was smearing potatoes all over his face and Hermione sighed, cleaning him up and helping him eat two spoonfuls. 

“Just let him make a mess; he’ll learn,” Tom grumbled. She shot him a look. 

“Then why don't you feed him?” she inquired. “In fact, why don't you stay home with him all day and change him and play with him and try to get him down for his nap? I'll go work at the Ministry in your place, and you can be a stay-at-home dad.” Tom rolled his eyes.

“Do you know how ridiculous you're sounding?” he wiped off his face with his napkin in frustration. “Is that what you want, Hermione? Do you want a job?” 

“Yes!” she cried. “I had told you before that's what I want!” 

“Then come with me to work tomorrow. I'll see what I can do.”

Hermione stared at him, and Arthur fussed slightly because of how the two had been arguing. She sighed and picked him up out of his highchair and set him on her lap instead. “And what would I do with Arthur? He's too young for a sitter,” she pointed out. “Besides, do you want someone we don't know that well hearing our son speak parseltongue? It's better that I stay with him.”

“Bring him with you,” Tom suggested. “Pack up his snacks and his toys and bring him to work.” 

In another time, that's exactly what Hermione would have done. Ron would have been in the Auror Department and she would be… in whatever department she would have chosen… with their child in a sling carrier as she worked all day. But it was 1947. A young mother didn't just show up to work with a baby at her hip and not get judged about it. Merlin’s beard, she wasn't sure she wouldn't have gotten judged in her own time. 

Her eyes narrowed. “Tom, do you realize just how difficult taking a one-year-old to work would be?” she inquired. 

“No, because I am not the one doing it,” he grinned. 

“Maybe you should try it before I do; try and see what I mean when it is almost impossible,” she challenged. Hermione watched as his jaw grew taut and she knew that she had got him. He didn't like backing away from a challenge. It was the one thing about him that was a bit Gryffindor. “Take Arthur to work with you tomorrow and see how… ‘easy’ it will be.”

Tom straightened and picked up his soup spoon, and nodded. “Very well. I will.”

*****

Their little flat was buzzing with activity the next morning, as Tom moved around chaotically trying to get himself and Arthur ready for the day. By the time he had packed a bag for Arthur and had dressed himself and the baby, he almost had to dash out of the flat. Hermione watched it all with amusement from their bedroom door, leaning on the frame as Tom tried to fix his tie. He'd dressed Arthur well, much to her surprise, in little black shorts and a light green jumper with little black patent shoes.

“Mumma?” he looked at her with big eyes and she picked him up with a smile.

“You're going to go with daddy today, love,” she told him. Arthur grinned, showing the little teeth that had broken through so far—two on the bottom and two on the top with another coming in soon on the bottom. “Daddy’s going to take you to work with him.”

At the sight of Tom, whose hair was more unkempt than usual, Arthur squealed, “Dada!” Tom sighed but managed a smile as he slung Arthur’s bag over his shoulder and took him from Hermione. “Dadadada…” Arthur giggled contentedly. 

“Have fun today,” Hermione told them both, biting back a smirk as she kissed Tom on the lips before pressing a kiss to the top of Arthur’s head. She then lowered her voice and whispered to Tom, “If something happens to him, I will disarm you and use the Elder wand to kill you.” He almost laughed, but the stern look on her face made him decide not to do that. “I'm serious, Tom.” 

“We’ll be fine,” he assured, kissing her cheek before apparating to work.

When he arrived, Arthur was wide awake, looking around and trying to figure out where he was. Tom made his way to the Minister’s offices, where his own office was located. His secretary cooed over Arthur, who stared at her with wide eyes. Tom was amused, as the old witch’s reaction to Arthur was similar to her reaction to Tom himself when he started work, and Arthur’s response of evident confusion and slight horror was exactly how Tom had felt. 

After getting settled in the office, transfiguring one of his chairs into a play-pen for Arthur, Tom got to work. He was barely fifteen minutes into proof-reading a statement for the Minister when Arthur began to cry like a banshee, and Tom ran a hand over his face.

“Arthur…” Tom sighed. The baby only cried harder and he got up from his comfy work chair and picked him up. He didn't feel or smell like he needed to be changed, so Tom offered him a bit of a biscuit. He batted Tom’s hand away and continued to cry. “Ugh.” Placing him on his knee, Tom began to bounce him gently, though nothing seemed to be working. “Arthur, daddy needs to work…” With a huff, he put Arthur down and went to the bag, rummaging around for a toy or something. When he pulled out the stuffed snake, Arthur stopped crying and reached for the toy. 

“Sssss!” Arthur giggled. Tom smiled in relief and picked him up again, handing him the toy and letting him sit on his lap as he worked. With Arthur fairly entertained, he was able to get a fair amount of work done until lunch. That meant a diaper change and lunch, both of which tended to be difficult. But after lunch, Arthur was ready for a nap, which allowed Tom to get plenty of work done.

“Mr. Riddle?” his secretary knocked on the door. “The Head of the Auror’s Office is here to see you.” 

“Show him in,” he ordered. As the door opened, Tom moved to stand, smoothing his robes before shaking the man’s hand. 

Etharis Whitmore had been the head of the Auror’s Office for the better half of a century. He was strict, and ran a tight ship in the Auror’s Office, and didn't see the world in shades of grey; everything was black and white, Dark and Light. Tom had a feeling he was suspicious of him, so he was quick to use his Occlumency skills as soon as the man entered the office.

“It's a pleasure to see you, Mr. Whitmore. What brings you to my office this afternoon?” Tom motioned for him to sit as he returned to his own chair. 

“Well, I wanted to extend my congratulations, of course,” the older man sat gingerly. “It's not every day that a young man such as yourself earns such a high-ranking position so quickly.” Tom smiled his stiffest smile and sat back in his chair.

“I'm very fortunate,” he said easily. “It's a relief to my wife; she's been itching to move somewhere more permanent ever since our son was born.”

The older man’s tired, green eyes flitted to the sleeping infant in the play-pen. Arthur was still clinging to his stuffed snake, sprawled out on his back. Whitmore chuckled. “House loyalties start early, don't they, Mr. Riddle? I was in Ravenclaw, myself; can't lie and say my own children didn't have eagles in their nurseries.” Tom’s smile became even more strained; he had no idea what the man had come to talk to him about.

“My wife and I will be happy no matter where Arthur is sorted,” he stated. “Mr. Whitmore, something tells me you're not just here to talk about my son and my promotion.”

The corners of the man’s eyes crinkled slightly. “You've gained quite the reputation since your duel with Gellert Grindelwald. Your story is… fascinating to say the least. Kidnapped on your wedding night, kept prisoner in Nurmengard, only to be rescued by your wife? It… It’s almost too good to be true, Mr. Riddle,” he explained. “As I'm sure you're aware, Grindelwald tried to infiltrate the Ministry many times. Who's to say he hasn't finally succeeded?”

“Are you accusing me of being a spy?” Tom scoffed. 

“I'm not accusing you of anything. I know that you are a spy, so there's no point in making accusations. After all, how could a boy with slightly above average magical ability, born to a squib mother and a muggle father no less, defeat a wizard whom no other wizard could have possibly defeated, especially considering Gellert Grindelwald had the Elder wand in his possession at the time?”

“Then what do you think happened?” Tom’s hands were balled into fists at his sides.

“Honestly? I think Grindelwald not only chose you to infiltrate the Ministry, but he picked you as his successor in his crusade. And I don't have proof of it yet, but I will.” Whitmore suddenly rose to his feet and stuck out his hand for a shake. Tom too got to his feet and begrudgingly shook his hand. “I'll be around, Riddle.” Without another word, Whitmore left Tom’s office and the door slammed shut behind him. 

Tom cursed, only to look over and see that Arthur was sitting up in his play-pen, watching him curiously. He smiled and picked him up, watching as Arthur pounded his fists on the solid wood of his desk. 

Because the accusations were heavy, Tom quickly rolled up his sleeve and touched the gold “H” on his arm. Moments later, Hermione materialized in the office, looking cross. Arthur squealed and babbled at the sight of her, and she walked around the desk to pick him up. 

“Couldn't handle him, could you?” she asked.

“Actually, Arthur and I were having a wonderful day until Auror Whitmore walked into my office. He's made some chilling accusations that could be… detrimental to my career,” Tom hummed, thinking about how to handle the situation. Hermione raised a brow, bouncing Arthur slightly as he babbled up at her. 

“What are you planning to do?” She had a bad feeling that he had plenty in mind for the man, considering Tom had publicly denounced Grindelwald and his supporters. It was well-known that Tom didn't have any love for Grindelwald.

“I don't know quite yet. Whitmore’s good, but I know I'm better at this game than he is. His reputation is spotless, though; there's nothing I could dig up and ruin him with,” Tom grumbled.

Hermione tried to recall anything she had read about Etharis Whitmore in her own time. Sadly, he had been fairly unremarkable as in her own time he'd had nothing to do with Grindelwald’s defeat. “He could be jealous,” she pointed out. “I remember he did try to go after Dumbledore and his relationship with Grindelwald in my own time. Jealous people make mistakes.” An idea hit her suddenly and she grinned. “Tom, why not have a little party when we move into the new house? Invite all the heads of the departments, and the Minister.”

“He's too clever,” Tom shook his head. “He wouldn't slip up in front of the Minister.”

“Perhaps,” Hermione mused. “But you know how men can get when their wives aren't around. If I'm the only woman around, there's sure to be a lewd comment or two thrown my way. Whitmore is an old-fashioned man; no doubt he’ll take great delight in seeing me serve you all, and after a few glasses of fire whiskey he’ll probably tell everyone. You'll make a show, threaten to tell his wife, maybe, and then he’ll do whatever you want him to do to try and avoid a scandal.” Tom’s eyes lit up and he moved around to kiss her.

“Are you sure you weren't supposed to be in Slytherin?” he teased. “Very well. I'll set a date… say, a month or so?” Hermione nodded. “I daresay we will have Mr. Whitmore right where we want him.”

*****

A month later, Hermione was dressed in a emerald green cocktail dress and fixing drinks for all of Tom’s coworkers while Arthur toddled about the new sitting room with his favorite green snake in his hands. Hermione secretly prayed that Arthur wouldn't start speaking in parseltongue the minute Whitmore arrived; the last thing they needed was for something unusual to happen, and very few people knew that Tom could speak to snakes, let alone their child. Just as she went to hand the Minister another glass of fire whiskey, Arthur started to hiss at his toy snake and she almost dropped the glass.

“Remarkable!” The Head of Magical Law Enforcement exclaimed, already rather drunk. “A parselmouth! Which side of the family does he get that from?” 

Hermione and Tom exchanged glances as she scooped Arthur up from the carpet. 

“Mine,” Tom finally stated, absentmindedly sipping from his glass of wine. “It comes from my mother’s family, as I understand.” He could feel Whitmore’s eyes on him, but he didn't show that it bothered him. The Minister too raised a brow and sat back on their sofa.

“You know, you should look into that further. They say the only parselmouths left are descendants of Salazar Slytherin,” he remarked. 

“Fascinating,” Tom remarked, obviously not surprised.

“Well,” Hermione said, trying to break up the heaviness that had settled over the room. “Why don't we head into the dining room and start to eat?” The men all mumbled in agreement, and she was quick to top off Whitmore’s drink as they made their way in. She set to bustling around the kitchen and the dining room, much to the amusement of the intoxicated men. 

“How you let her handle all of this without a house-elf is beyond me,” a man who strongly resembled Sirius Black remarked. 

“Hermione is quite capable,” Tom assured. “In fact, this sort of work is below her. She tied me in marks during our year together at Hogwarts. You would have liked having her work for the Ministry, gentlemen. She's proof-read more speeches for me than I care to admit.” Hermione smiled shyly and scooped some roast potatoes onto the Minister’s plate. 

“Hm,” Whitmore huffed in obvious disagreement. “A pretty witch’s job is to stay at home and be a mother to young witches and wizards. I don't like this new movement of women in the workplace; especially when so few of them look like this one…” his gaze flitted over Hermione rather drunkenly and he smacked her on the ass. She shot Tom a look and he rose to his feet.

“I'm sorry, did you just touch my wife?” he hissed. 

Everyone stopped eating. You could have heard a pin drop in the room as Tom stared Whitmore down. Hermione simply returned to the kitchen to get a new drink for Whitmore. The vial she plucked from the cabinet contained a slow-acting poison that was untraceable and appeared like a fever in whoever digested it. Her hands shook as she uncorked the bottle and dropped the clear liquid into Whitmore’s drink.

“I apologize,” Whitmore said tensely as Hermione brought his drink back to him. Her gaze locked with Tom’s and she bit her lip nervously.

Whitmore threw back his drink and slammed it back down on the table. 

When everyone left, Tom kissed Hermione fiercely on the lips, his tongue slipping into her mouth as he pulled her close. Arthur was already up in the nursery, fast asleep, and Hermione knew exactly what Tom was thinking about.

“Why am I not surprised that my helping you poison your political enemies turns you on?” she laughed, tangling her fingers in his hair. Tom growled and bit her bottom lip playfully.

“Just hearing you say it gets me hot, love,” he smirked, picking her up and carrying her upstairs to their bedroom.


	14. Chapter 14

3 May, 1998

Hermione woke with a start. She looked around, taking in her surroundings. The last thing she remembered, she was in bed with Voldemort of all people and they were celebrating poisoning some poor bloke. But that wasn't all she had done, if she remembered right. They… They had been married! They'd had a child! 

But she was safe, in Grimmauld Place, with Ginny sleeping in the bed next to her. 

She was back.

Or had she ever left?

Stumbling out of bed, Hermione was surprised to find herself in her old pajamas; sweatpants and a plain t-shirt. When she left the room, the remaining members of the Order were bustling about, clearing the place up. 

“Mrs. Weasley, what day is it?” she asked. The older woman turned toward her and looked confused.

“It's the day after the battle, dear,” she replied. Her expression grew melancholy, and Hermione remembered everything that had happened. Her heart went out to her and she hugged her, glad to see her again and glad to be back in her own time. 

Harry and Ron appeared next, both looking exhausted. She ran to hug them both, though she found that hugging Ron had lost some of its appeal since her apparent dream the night before. 

“It's good to see you too, Hermione,” Harry joked. 

She smiled softly. “Things are finally going to feel normal, aren't they?” 

“As normal as they can be,” he stated.

*****

Hermione went about her day as normally as possible. She made her way to the bathroom, showering and taking the time to wash her hair as good as she could. It was strange to feel it back in its wild, curly state when in her strange dream it had been constantly smoothed and coiffed to high heaven. Still, it was nice to feel like her old self again. The self that wouldn't fall for Voldemort’s games and tricks. That was how she had determined the other world she'd experienced to be nothing more than a dream; there was no way she would ever be so willingly trustworthy of Voldemort, and Ron and Harry would never work with Malfoy of all people to bring her back. 

Ginny was waiting outside the door when Hermione exited the bathroom. She stared at her long and hard, making Hermione frown slightly.

“What's the matter? Have I got toothpaste on my face or something?” she questioned.

“No, no,” Ginny shook her head. “You just… something’s different about you. But I don't know what.” Hermione shrugged and made her way past her to go back to their room. As she got dressed, she noticed something shimmering on her arm. 

“No… impossible!” she muttered.

But sure enough, a glittering “T” was on her forearm, as it had been since the night of the Leavers’ Ball in her strange dream. Hermione started to reach out to touch it, but decided against it. Besides, in her time, Voldemort was dead. She wouldn't be able to summon anything or anyone. Still, she was curious as to what would happen. 

Hermione decided that if she was going to touch the mark, she would have to wait until everyone was asleep. If Harry saw Voldemort walking about Grimmauld Place, she knew he wouldn't hesitate to kill him, and… and Hermione wasn't sure she wouldn't either. 

Later in the day, once the boys were around for the day, she confided to them the details of her dream. She spared them some of the raunchier details, as she didn't want to frighten Ron.

“Maybe it's just a side effect of being around so many of his horcruxes,” Harry suggested.

“That would make sense,” Hermione admitted. “I just hate how weak I felt. I felt like I couldn't control anything. I was his… puppet.” She cringed at the moment when they decided to poison that poor Auror at a dinner party of all places. The act was positively barbaric. 

“He's gone, Hermione. You're never going to have to face him. And Merlin knows he couldn't best the brightest witch of her age,” Ron remarked. 

She smiled, but his words failed to make her heart flutter like they once had. They made her happy, of course, but… the affection she once had felt for him was… faded. It wasn't gone, of course—he was still one of her very best friends—but… she didn't love him like she thought she could have. 

And then she realized it was because that stupid dream had felt so real and she still was holding a torch for the Dark Lord of all people. 

After a while, she left Grimmauld Place to walk around London. It was raining, but she didn't mind feeling the droplets pound on her back as she contemplated her world. Everyone she thought she had known in his time was dead, probably, as was Tom. And she knew that all of it had been fake, yet here she was, sporting the mark he'd given her that night in the Room of Requirement. 

It was all terribly confusing. 

And then there was the dilemma of her parents. They were alive, thank Merlin, but she had Obliviated their memories and they didn't even know she existed. She knew they were currently in Australia, but she didn't really know how to restore their memories. It would require a lot of research, and she couldn't even imagine how hurt they would feel when she told them what she had done to them to try and protect them. Hermione imagined they would understand, of course, but would they ever forgive her?

“They're your parents, Hermione, of course they would,” she muttered to herself. But still she had to wonder. 

When she returned to Grimmauld Place, almost everyone had gone to bed. She went upstairs into one of the unused bedrooms and rolled up her sleeve. Her hand lingered over the golden “T,” wondering if she had the nerve to find out if it worked. She didn't even know what she would do if it did.

Carefully, she pressed her index finger right into the middle of the shimmering letter. She didn't feel anything, so she imagined it hadn't worked. Hermione turned around and started to walk out the door when she felt the floor shudder.

“Hello, Hermione.”

**Author's Note:**

> There you have it! Hermione has given Tom a peek into his future, and he... is not pleased. Needless to say, they're getting off to a great start.
> 
> Also, three cheers for Dumbledore in the next chapter?
> 
> AND this fic really is Tom/Hermione centric so it's all about their interactions. Abraxas Malfoy and other early cronies will make appearances, but they're not as important.


End file.
